The Fires of Saigon
by Catching Tomorrow
Summary: Two sisters, two flowers and a war that changed everything. The Vietnam War, Hetalia style.
1. Separating

**So I'm currently in love with Historical!Hetalia. I go through obsessions with various periods of history and the event I'm teaching myself about at the moment is the Vietnam War, so I just had to write this. ^_^ I had to make up a few characters and take some creative liberties, but I've tried to keep it as historically correct as I can. If you have any suggestions or critique then please let me know; I'm doing my best to make it accurate but I recognise that I'm no expert.**

**Consider it disclaimed.**

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><p>"<em>War is a poor chisel to carve out tomorrow."<em>

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

France backed up as fast as he could, stumbling over the dense undergrowth, until the stiff bark of a tree stopped his retreat. His fingers clutched instinctively around the low-hanging branches but he wouldn't let it look like he was holding himself up. Despite his humiliating defeat and serious injuries, _Francais _still had enough pride to stay on his feet.

He looked up into the eyes of the sisters advancing towards him, both with guns aimed directly at him, and smiled weakly. They were both identical; same pretty faces, same long dark hair, same pink lotus flowers tucked behind their ears. The only difference between the two were their expressions. One was determined, angry, even ruthless. That was the face of someone who had been wronged and would not rest until they had their revenge. It would've been remarkably beautiful if it wasn't for the cold fury blazing behind the eyes. The other face, however, was almost apologetic, as though it really didn't want to hurt him and the whole war business was just a dreadful misunderstanding. As though it would prefer to exchange apologies and leave you alone, but the situation was forcing it to do something it really rather wouldn't and it hoped you understood. The warpaint and gun looked strangely incongruent with a face like that.

"_Mes fleurs_, can we not talk about this?" he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice as they stepped closer, blocking his escape. "There is no reason to fight, _oui_?"

"You should've thought about that before you invaded us," growled one of the sisters, the hard one. Northern Indochina. He remembered when she used to work for him; she had been much less submissive than her sister. Every order was a battle and she made no secret of her distaste for working for him. She had spirit, and he'd always admired that in her, even when it meant biting retorts or swift kicks to areas that could do without them.

"But I wanted to see you again, _mes fleurs_," he said, attempting another smile.

"Stop calling us that!" That was the other twin, the softer, kinder one. Southern Indochina. She was certainly more pleasant company than her sister, but she lacked that fire that seemed to drive her northern counterpart. "We aren't your flowers any more."

"Get out of our country."

"Don't be so hasty, we can negotia-"

"This is not open to negotiation!" They were right in front of him now, their guns inches from him. Northern Indochina - or North Vietnam, as she called herself - lifted her gun and aimed it directly at his chest. He flinched, pressing himself back against the tree, squeezing his eyes shut and whispering to himself in rapid French. This was all wrong. This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to perish on French soil, preferrably a long time in the future and defending his country like a hero, not in some botched battle for a faraway land. His entire body tensed, preparing for the inevitable bullet.

"Leave now and I might not shoot you."

France cracked one eye open. "_Excusez-moi_?"

"I said leave!" North Vietnam's finger tightened on the trigger. France didn't hesitate - he threw himself away from the tree trunk, away from the sisters, and crashed through the undergrowth as fast as his legs could carry him. No shots fired behind him and no searing pains cut through his back; they were letting him retreat. He would live. He would be humiliated and weakened - _defeated by a couple of girls. Angleterre will never let me live this down _- but he would get out of this alive.

Branches and vines whipped at his face and body as he ran, but he never once looked back.

The two sisters watched him go, crashing clumsily through the jungle like the foreigner he was. The foreigner that had dominated their land for so long, imposed his culture on them and destroyed their traditions, forced them to work for him and do his bidding. The foreigner that was finally gone. As he disappeared into the forest and the noise died away, the sense of what they'd accomplished began to wash over them. They had done it. They, two sisters from a small, weak country with nothing but determination and imported guns, had finally regained their independence.

Two identical smiles broke out over their faces at the same time, and for once they looked exactly the same.

"We're free," said North Vietnam quietly, testing the word on her tongue as though giving herself time to get used to the taste of it. "South, we're free!"

And, just like that, the stunned silence was broken. The two sisters cheered, hugging each other as their guns lay forgotten in the undergrowth. All this fighting and dying had been worth it; no-one would ever tell them what to do again. It would be just them again, no-one to order them around or take control of their affairs. They could do whatever they wanted, stand on their own, finally regain their pride.

As the sun set over the forest that day, both North and South Vietnam understood that it wasn't just the daylight that was ending. The era in which they'd been oppressed, trodden on, forced to serve against their will, was over. When the sun came up, it would be the dawn of a new, peaceful and united Vietnam.

The sisters watched the sunset from their porch, wearing brightly coloured Ao Dai instead of their military uniforms in celebration of their newfound independence. _Their _porch. That thought was still strange to South Vietnam. It had been so long since she could legitimately call it _their_ porch. France's porch, Japan's porch, but now truly, wholly theirs. The thought warmed her; now it was really just her and her sister again, as it was always meant to be.

"South." North Vietnam was looking at her now, the joy on her face replaced with seriousness. "Now that we're our own country again, we need to make some decisions. We can't just rely on France like we did before."

"Right," nodded South Vietnam. North was right, of course. Celebration was all well and good, but they had a country to run.

"China's been telling me all about this new system of government he and Russia have been using," continued North. "He was really enthusiastic about it. It sounds good, actually. I think it might work for us as well."

"Really? What's it called?"

"Communism. As in 'community'. Everyone's equal, see? Everyone gets the same. There's no poverty and no-one is born into money they don't deserve."

The sun had set now. South Vietnam frowned slightly and stared up at the stars, reluctant to meet her sister's eyes. Communism. America had told her about that and he'd been just as enthusiastic as China, but for all the opposite reasons. "I'm not sure, North. I don't think communism sounds like a good idea."

"Why not? What's wrong with it?"

"It just seems... I don't know, unfair."

"What do you mean, unfair?" North's voice had an edge of steel to it now. "No, you don't understand. It's the fairest system there is. That's the whole point of it. Everyone gets exactly what they deserve and no-one is seen as better than anyone else."

"But America-"

"Like he knows anything," scoffed North. "He's just as bad as France, isn't he? If communism's good enough for China and Russia then it's good enough for us."

"We're different from them," said South, still trying to avoid her sister's accusing eyes. "You know that."

"But why shouldn't it work? Besides, communism will make us strong, South. We'll be united, not divided. We'll be able to repel any threats that come our way. We'll never have to be anyone's servant again."

"Is that what this is about?" asked South, finally bringing her eyes up to meet her sister's. "War? Is having a strong army all you care about?"

"Of course not! But come on, don't be naive. We're free now, but if we stay weak then we won't be for long."

"You call communism freedom? Telling people what they can and can't do, what they can own, who they have to be? That's not freedom, North. We've just won our independence; we can't take it away from our people now."

Something snapped inside North Vietnam. The eyes that had been gently smouldering suddenly ignited and her mouth twisted into a snarl. "Don't you do this to me, South. We need this, don't you see? I don't care what _America _says-" she spat the name out like it tasted bad - "capitalism will _ruin _us."

"Communism will take away who we are! What's the point of having an 'us' if we're all bland, all the same?" Even South was raising her voice now. "I'm not doing it. I don't care what you say, I won't let this happen!"

North stood up very fast, knocking over her chair. She stared down at her sister as though she hadn't lived and worked alongside her for millennia, as though she was just a particularly unpleasant stranger or a bug that had found its way into her house. South had seen North get angry before - she did have a temper - but she had known her long enough to tell the difference between the different forms of her fury. There was vague annoyance, spiteful resentment, and everything up to blazing rage. But this was different. This was cold hatred, and it scared her. "Well then," said North, her voice flat but charged with suppressed anger. "Perhaps it would be best if I leave."

South forced herself to meet her sister's eyes and wished she hadn't; she didn't like what she saw there. "Perhaps it would."

South Vietnam watched her sister go, stomping down the porch steps and disappearing off into the night. The moon, so bright just a few minutes ago, had been covered by clouds, so she couldn't follow her progress for very long. She stared at the spot where her sister had been lost from view, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. _This wasn't supposed to happen. We only just got our freedom back - we should be celebrating a new age, not separating!_

A minute or two after her sister had disappeared, South Vietnam felt a peculiar numbness spread through her. It was as though some of her nerve endings had suddenly shut down, never to work again, like the exact opposite of pins and needles. It wasn't a painful feeling; it was strange, if anything, but she knew exactly what it was. She and her sister had always been one region. The north and south halves of it, maybe, but one Indochina, one Annam, one Vietnam. Not any more. That numbness was the citizens of the north leaving her, becoming one with her sister and her sister only. Hanoi could be destroyed right now and she wouldn't feel a thing, and she knew that if Saigon was to go up in flames tonight, her sister would be none the wiser. A petal landed in her lap; she picked it up between her thumb and forefinger. A lotus petal, pure white instead of the usual pink. Hesitantly, she touched the flower behind her ear and, to her horror, more white petals came away in her hand until only half of the flower was left.

They were well and truly separate nations now.

South Vietnam felt a tear finally spill over and run down her cheek, leaving a damp spot on the brightly coloured fabric of her Ao Dai. She looked down at it, running her fingers over the silk skirt. It had felt so good to wear it again, if only for one night, after so long in that ugly, dirty military uniform.

But she knew now that good things didn't last.

* * *

><p><strong>In 1954, the French lost the Battle of Dien Bien Phu and surrendered to the Vietnamese. A ceasefire was negotiated at the Geneva Conference in Switzerland and independence was officially granted to Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. The northern half of Vietnam had been receiving help from the Soviet Union for a while and wanted to become communist, but the government of the southern half, strongly influenced by America, wanted to remain capitalist. The country was officially partitioned along the seventeenth parallel.<strong>

**Please leave a review if you liked it! ^_^**


	2. Attacks and Allies

_"War is so unjust and ugly that all who wage it must try to stifle the voice of conscience within themselves."_

- Leo Tolstoy

When the sun rose over Vietnam the next day, it did bring a new era. But it wasn't the age of peace and unity the sisters had hoped for - the light shone down over two houses, not one, separated by a vast expanse of thick jungle. On the porch of the southernmost house stood South Vietnam, peering through the thick forest in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her sister. She didn't dare go any nearer in case it was taken as an act of war but the ball of worry pinching at her stomach made her desperate to see her, just to make sure she was sitting at home and not preparing for a fight. She knew her sister and her tactics and she also knew that any battle against her would not be easily won. Once she had a cause to set her mind to she could be ruthless, and South Vietnam was aware that she lacked her sister's drive and courage. If a war did break out, she honestly didn't know what would happen.

Giving up on her attempt to see through the trees, South Vietnam went back inside and put some water on to boil. She would just have to take any aggressive action by her sister as it came, and until then she would try to keep life as normal as possible. She didn't want to upset her citizens, after all. It was as she was spooning tea leaves into a cup that the first attack hit.

A pain shot through her head, making her wince. _A stress headache? _She lifted a hand to her forehead and took it away slowly; there was blood on her palm. She barely had time to register shock before another jolt hit her, this time in the stomach. She screamed and doubled over, clutching at her abdomen, as another pain hit her in the back, then the shoulder, then the neck. _This isn't North. This is me. What's going on? _She was on the floor now, knees pulled to her face. _There's no need to fight. Your sister only wants peace! She only wants fairness and equality! How can you fight that? _South Vietnam clutched at her head - had she really just thought that? Where had that come from? Attacks hit her from all sides, coming in waves with just enough time between to allow her to stagger to her knees before sending her crashing back down onto the kitchen floor. _I can't die_, she thought, whimpering quietly as pain after pain assaulted her_. Not here. Not now. Please!_

"Vietnam? Vietnam!"

Through the haze of shock and agony, she became aware of strong hands shaking her shoulders. A face was hovering over her. She blinked, and the image swam into focus long enough for her to recognise it, although she'd never seen it with this concerned and scared expression. America.

"Are you alright? What's going on?"

She tried to say something, but another jolt shook her and all she did was cry out in pain. Some sort of understanding seemed to occur to America. He didn't know what was happening, but something terrible was occurring in South Vietnam and all he could do was use his presence to try and calm the situation down. He pulled her into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her, holding her upright.

"You're okay now. I'm here. You're safe. I'm the hero, I'll save you. I'll save you."

And, as tears ran down her face and soaked his shirt, the pain began to stop. The open wounds still hurt but no new ones were appearing. America seemed to have scared away whatever had been attacking her. For now, at least, he was right; she was safe. She rested her head on his shoulder and cried, all the pent-up sadness and regret of the previous night leaving her in waves of tears. America just sat there with her, holding her close and rocking her like a child as she sobbed, letting out all her pain and fear and grief.

Finally, after what seemed like forever but was probably closer to ten minutes, South Vietnam lifted her head from America's shoulder and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Sorry," she said quietly, a little embarrassed at her outburst now that everything was over.

"Don't worry about it," he said, grinning at her. "You're okay now, right?"

"Right," she sniffed.

"Do you know what happened? I just knocked on the door and you didn't answer, then I heard you scream so I came in to make sure you weren't dying or something. And you were."

"I think it was a resistance movement," she said, still sitting on the floor with her arms around her legs. "People who live here but like my sister better. They were ripping me apart from the inside, but they must've stopped when you came."

"Makes sense," he said, climbing to his feet. "I am the hero, after all. Need a hand?"

She took his offered hand and let him pull her up, then looked down at her blood-soaked clothes and winced. The attacks hadn't been pretty.

"You got a first aid kit?" asked America, frowning at her open wounds.

"In the cupboard over there. I'll fetch it."

"No, you sit down." He frogmarched her over to a living room chair and pushed her down into it. She watched as he found the first aid kit, brought it over to her and snapped it open. It wasn't as sophisticated as the medical equipment some of the other countries had, but it would do. America unravelled a roll of bandages and began to bind shut some of the more serious cuts. She watched him work, vaguely interested; she'd never seen him look this serious before.

After a few minutes, South Vietnam hesitantly broke the silence. "Why did you come here?" she asked. "Not that I'm not grateful that you did, of course, but why?"

"It's my duty to help any nation threatened by a communist power," he said, not looking up from bandaging. "You should be able to do whatever you want to, no matter what Russia thinks. You just split up with your sister because of that - I was coming to check if you were okay."

"Oh," she said, slightly surprised. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"Don't mention it." He tied up the last bandage and started to rub antiseptic cream onto some of the more minor cuts. It stung, but South Vietnam tried her best not to wince. "If you fall to communism, it'll start a domino effect spreading all over Southeast Asia and I really don't want to have to deal with that. But good thing I did come, eh? Who knows what your sister might have done to you if I didn't come to save you?"

"It wasn't my sister. It was the Vietcong." The name popped into her head from nowhere in particular, but she knew immediately that it was right.

"The Vietcong? Is that what they're called? Well, they work for your sister, don't they? As far as I'm concerned, this-" he motioned to her blood-soaked clothes, "-is her doing."

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><p>It soon became clear to South Vietnam that her worries of that morning were unfounded. America meant what he said about helping her and he didn't intend to stop with the bandages. He began to bring troops into her country, all sworn to defend her and stop her sister's communism at all costs, and with his soldiers came advanced weaponry, guns and supplies. At first this made her immensely pleased and touched that he cared so much, but she soon began to wonder if taking such an offensive stance against her sister was a good idea. After all, it wasn't as if they were actually at war. Watching all this new military equipment cross her borders made a pang of worry start deep within her chest. Why couldn't they just accept the separation and live in peace? But any doubts that she voiced were quickly silenced by America.<p>

"It's one of the principles of communism to spread," he said. "If you don't get stronger then she'll run you over like a steamroller, and that would suck. Besides, she's probably doing the exact same thing over there. Do you want me to help you or not?"

"I guess so," she conceded.

"Good. Oh, and by the way, Australia and South Korea said they're coming too."

"Wait, what?"

"G'day mate!"

America and South Vietnam spun towards the door to see an Akubra-clad man letting himself in, grinning at them in a relaxed, lop-sided way. He was tanned, taller than average and had a plaster across his nose, and she recognised him instantly as the large island nation that had come into existence only recently in the ocean south of her.

"Australia!" America launched himself at the other nation and clapped him on the back with enough force to send a lesser country staggering forwards. "Nice of you to drop by! How ya been?"

"Just fine," he said, his broad accent strange to her ears. "This is the least I can do. I still owe you big time after World War Two. Is this the sheila we're protecting, then?"

"That's South Vietnam, yeah."

"Nice to meet ya," said Australia, sweeping off his Akubra in a bow that she couldn't quite tell was sarcastic or not, but she knew that there was no offence meant either way. She'd barely even met this country before but she already liked him. There was something about his easy smile and relaxed attitude that made him feel like an old friend already. "Don't you worry about your sister, miss. You're safe with us."

"Thank you," she said, smiling back at him. Smiling was easier now; her previous worries had begun to evaporate. She had supplies now, and equipment, and money, and extra troops, and countries willing to support her. That could only be a good thing, and she was touched that people seemed to care about her enough to send her soldiers.

"I'M HERE, DA ZE~!"

South Vietnam's head snapped back towards the door in time to see South Korea dance through, his face stretched into a smile so big she wondered how it fit on his face. His usual hanbok had been replaced with a military uniform, but it still looked a little too big for him and the sleeves hung well past his hands. Why did he never wear clothes that fit correctly? But despite his obnoxious attitude and poor clothing choices, she was glad he was here.

"Korean dude!" America stopped trying to steal Australia's Akubra and ran over to greet him. "You came!"

"Of course I came!" he said, returning America's hug with slightly more enthusiasm than was necessary. "I couldn't just sit back and let your sister attack you, could I? South Vietnam was invented in Korea, you know~"

She didn't bother to correct him; it never worked. Besides, she was too busy enjoying the feeling of warmth that had begun to spread through her body. She was a small, relatively weak nation with a dysfunctional military and a messy history, barely escaping a determined foe a hundred times stronger than she was, and already three countries had pledged themselves to her cause. The painful void left by her sister's absence was still there, but her new allies were doing their best to bandage it shut, to cover it up until they could be reunited.

Maybe this situation wasn't so hopeless after all.

* * *

><p><strong>The new leader of South Vietnam, Bao Dai, appointed anti-communist Ngo Dinh Diem as his new prime minister, which greatly pleased America. Meanwhile, in North Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh returned from exile and took leadership of the country. Thousands of communists living in the south went north, although some ten thousand Viet Minh (North Vietnamese) soldiers were instructed to remain behind. Unrest was already beginning to emerge in the South, with hundreds of government officials and village chiefs being assassinated by insurgents. In 1955, America offered to formally train and assist the fledgling South Vietnamese Army. Australia (and New Zealand, although I let Australia represent the ANZACs for clarity - sorry to any New Zealanders reading this!), who were still thankful to America for helping them fight the Japanese in WWII, joined the war in 1962 and South Korea, still sore from drawing against communist North Korea in the Korean War, agreed to send troops in 1964.<strong>


	3. Warning Shots

**Moony and HP: No, don't think that! Your review was really helpful! I would've said thank you if you weren't anonymous. ^_^**

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><p><em>"Never think that war, no matter how necessary, no matter how justified, is not a crime."<em>

- Ernest Hemingway

North Vietnam blew a strand of sweat-soaked dark hair out of her eyes and scowled. She was sitting in the mud, her military uniform damp from the humidity and covered in dirt, and her muscles were screaming out in protest. Even the gun she held seemed too heavy.

"Get up, aru! You can't win wars sitting on the floor!" China jogged up beside her and started nudging her with his foot.

"Go away," she moaned, letting herself fall back to lie in the grass. This wasn't even a war; China didn't know what he was talking about. The sun blinded her and the heat beat down on every inch of her exposed skin, but at least it was better than running.

The nudging intensified. "I came here to help train you, aru! Come on! You want to be strong, don't you?"

He was right, of course. It might not be a war, but it wasn't exactly peace either and she had to be prepared for whatever came. North Vietnam sighed deeply and hauled herself to her feet, slinging her gun back across her back and staggering slightly before regaining her balance. They had been running laps around the house for two hours straight and China barely seemed affected by it. _Cocky git. _He seemed to place a ridiculous amount of importance on fitness training; she had pointed out that her sister's house was _right there_, but apparently the further she could run the stronger she would be. Even so, she much preferred the hours they spent at their makeshift shooting range or practising hand-to-hand combat.

"Well done! Let's go, aru!" China darted off around the corner, still hardly breaking a sweat. North Vietnam muttered something in Vietnamese that is best left untranslated and began to follow him. Her feet felt like lead blocks attached to the end of her legs, but she was damned if she was going to let a stupid training exercise beat her.

It had been like this ever since China had arrived a few days ago. Russia had been there as well at one point; he turned up to wish her well and bring supplies, then he had disappeared again, promising he'd be back. China had explained to her that Russia was busy with other matters in Europe but planned to give her his full support. North Vietnam had come to realise, through the serious interest of these two major powers, that this wasn't going to be a clean split like she'd wanted. South Vietnam was her twin, after all - despite their disagreements, she'd been silently hoping that they would leave her alone. Communism spreads by its very nature, and they weren't going to let her sister get away with escaping the system.

So be it.

North Vietnam dragged herself around the corner and up to the front steps, the marker that they had chosen to signify the end and beginning of a lap. _How many have I done, again? _She couldn't remember; her mind was swimming from a mix of heat and fatigue. China was sitting on the steps and smiling widely at her.

"That's enough for today, aru. Well done! You're coming on much faster than I expected."

She merely grunted in acknowledgement and collapsed onto the stairs next to him, her limbs practically on fire. Getting stronger was not an easy task. Still, as long as she could outfight her sister then she was happy. From what she could make out through the trees, all South Vietnam had was America, who wouldn't know a day's exercise if it beat him round the head with an oar, Australia, who was just an ex-colony without much military experience, and South Korea, who was an idiot. The odds were certainy in her favour.

"Hey, aru..." China had her binoculars now - he hadn't hesitated to make himself at home from the moment he'd arrived - and was peering through a gap in the forest. "Look at this."

North Vietnam took the binoculars and pressed them to her face, taking a moment to find the gap that had given China a view of her sister's house. She found it and focused on the sliver of house visible through the branches and tree trunks. She frowned. "Is that what I think it is?"

China nodded, confirming her suspicions. There was an anti-aircraft gun on her sister's porch. It looked strangely incongruent sitting there, all grey, blocky metal on a background of delicate, traditional bamboo. But how it looked wasn't important; who knew how many more weapons had been brought into South Vietnam's house? There could be a hundred anti-aircraft guns and who knew what else just out of sight.

"What does it mean?" she asked China.

He chewed his lip in thought. "Well, it could just be defensive, aru... But it looks to me like they're planning for war."

"So what do we do?" She knew the answer but desperately hoped it wouldn't come.

"We attack first. Just fire a warning shot or two, aru. Just to show them that we aren't scared of them."

North Vietnam's heart sank painfully, but she knew what she had to do. She took her rifle from where it was slung across her back, loaded it from a pouch at her belt and held it against her shoulder, taking careful aim. It wasn't easy to see through the trees, but she managed to get a clear shot at one of her sister's windows. _Steady... remember what China taught you... _She calmed herself, breathing out slowly, keeping as still and relaxed as possible, and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

><p>South Vietnam, America, Australia and South Korea had spent the day setting up defences all around the house. Guns, turrets, cover, the works. If North Vietnam dared to charge her sister, she would find them more than prepared. It had been surprisingly hard work even with help.<p>

"I could really do with a beer, you know," said Australia, wiping his forehead with his already soaked sleeve.

"Me too..." America looked close to collapsing in the heat. South Vietnam had to admit that they had a point; even she was finding it hard to concentrate.

"Come on, guys~" South Korea was the only one who looked completely unaffected. He was still almost skipping around the porch, checking the defences without even breaking a sweat. "Stop being such wimps, da ze! Australia, pass me a spanner~"

South Vietnam thought she heard Australia mutter a suggestion as to where South Korea could stick his spanner and decided it was probably time for a break. "Why don't we all go inside? I'll make tea and we can take a break. It gets cooler in the afternoon."

"Sounds good to me!" America stood up and stretched, dropping his spade onto the grass and retying his military jacket around his waist. Australia was only too happy to follow him inside and even South Korea could be seen slinking back into the shade. South Vietnam shut the door behind them and went over to the kitchen counter to boil water for tea while the other three made themselves at home on her couch.

And that was when the bullet smashed the window and buried itself in the cushion inches away from America's head.

He yelped in shock and recoiled backwards, lost his balance and landed in South Korea's lap, but the other Asian nation was too busy with a decidedly un-manly scream to notice. Australia fell backwards off the arm of the couch and South Vietnam dropped her kettle in surprise.

* * *

><p>"Aiyah!" China grabbed the binoculars and peered out through the trees. "That was a good shot, aru!"<p>

North Vietnam smiled and lowered the gun. "Thanks!" _I guess my aim really is improving. _But the flash of triumph she'd felt was quickly subdued by dread. She'd fired a shot. She'd actually fired on her sister. _We're still not at war_, she told herself, forcing her worries back down. _It was just a warning shot._ She looked across at China's untroubled face and took a deep, steady breath, keeping her face neutral. _But a warning against what?_

* * *

><p>South Vietnam's house went from a flurry of noise and panic to deadly quiet and still disconcertingly quickly. Everyone stayed exactly where they were, staring at the hole in the cushion right next to where America's head had been. When nothing had happened for at least ten seconds, Australia was the first to move.<p>

"That almost had ya, mate!" he said, climbing to his feet and straightening up as though he hadn't just somersaulted backwards onto a bamboo floor.

"Yeah..." America was still wide-eyed and pale.

"So!" South Korea was back to normal again. "What are we going to do~?"

"What do you mean?" asked South Vietnam, stepping carefully over shattered fragments of glass and pottery.

"They shot at us, da ze! We can't just let them get away with it~"

"We should fight back!" said Australia.

America was still for another few seconds, then shook his head as if to get rid of any lingering shock. "Right! Yeah, fight back!"

"Wait!" South Vietnam stared around at them all with wide, horrified eyes. "One bullet and you're starting a war? We're just going to attack them? Just like that?"

"They started it, mate!"

"Yeah~!"

"Don't worry about it," said America, smiling broadly. He was himself again, that was for sure. Near-death experiences didn't get him down for long. "You've got us, haven't you? We'll win, I promise."

South Vietnam lowered her head and stared at the sharp pieces of window and kettle all over her floor, then at the bullet hole in the cushion. She _had _started it, even if she was her own sister. This wasn't starting a war - this was continuing it. "Okay."

* * *

><p>"Good, aru! Now see if you can hit that one."<p>

North Vietnam steadied her rifle against her shoulder and released her breath slowly. _Calm... Slow... Steady is the key..._ She squinted at the target and tightened her finger on the trigger. _Come on bullseye..._

China slammed into her just as the gun fired, knocking her off the porch and hurling himself on top of her. The bullet hit a tree twenty feet to the left of the target, but she didn't have time to yell out before a section of her front porch exploded. A fireball bloomed with a noise loud enough to temporarily deafen anyone nearer than them and splintered chunks of wood flew like darts in every direction. And then, just as soon as it had started, it was over, the smoke clearing slowly and the debris settling onto the grass and surviving porch.

"What the _hell _was that?" she exclaimed, scrambling out from under China and racing towards her ruined porch.

"Some kind of bomb, aru." China climbed to his feet and followed her, looking surprisingly unshaken.

"Look! They blew a giant hole in it! That'll take forever to fix!" She kicked a piece of splintered bamboo into the crater in frustration.

"It would've seriously injured us if I hadn't seen it coming, aru. I think they were aiming for us."

"Aiming for us? You mean they were trying to kill us?"

"I think so, aru. Why so surprised? This is a war, isn't it?"

North Vietnam looked at he jungle separating her from her sister's house, then at the ruined porch and the charred wood. China was right. Neither sister had marched on the other or even declared war, but it was a war all the same. "I suppose it is."

There was a line and it had been crossed. This wasn't a tense, uncomfortable peace any more. North Vietnam was surprised to find that this thought didn't shock her; she'd known all along that this was what would happen. She and her sister would be together again eventually, of that she had no doubt. South Vietnam just needed to see reason, that was all. If she wanted to fight then they would fight for as long as it took to sort out their differences and end this madness. If showing her the truth meant war, then that was just what she would have to do.

She raised a hand and touched the lotus flower tucked behind her ear. The flower that was now red instead of pink and had only half of its petals.

Vietnam _would_ be united once again, no matter what it took.

* * *

><p><strong>By 1956, both states were extremely suspicious of each other and were both building up their armies in preparation for war, but the South Vietnamese generals, made overconfident by their American support, were the ones to finally start it. War was never officially declared by either side, which is why it's often just referred to as the Vietnam Conflict. The bomb, although not actually used in these early stages, is a reference to the carpet-bombing used by the American forces later in the war to attempt to level the jungle that was causing them so many problems. The war didn't properly begin from an American perspective until 1961, but there had been American 'advisors' in South Vietnam since 1955. The fighting didn't seriously begin until the 1960's but now there was no hope for peace any more.<strong>


	4. Jungle Warfare

"_All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true."_

- Kurt Vonnegut

America had red indents in his forearms and a sore back from leaning against the window for two hours straight, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. He was on sentry duty and he was damned if he was going to let the enemy invade on his watch. He shifted the weight of the sniper rifle in his hands and repositioned his face to get a better view through the scope. He could just make out a sliver of North Vietnam's house through the trees. There was no activity. But then, the curtains were drawn so that wasn't saying much.

America, bored of staring at the covered window and plain wall, began to twist the rifle to take a look at the forest. It was, all things considered, not much more interesting than the bit of house. Trees, trees, big trees, small trees, trees with lots of branches, trees with no branches, flowering trees, green trees, red trees... wait, red trees?

He jerked the rifle back to the flash of red just in time to get a clear look at it before it disappeared again. It was an armband. A bright scarlet armband with a yellow star on it. Communists.

"They're coming!" he shouted, scanning the forest for the armband again. "Everyone get ready!"

"Right you are, mate!" Australia grabbed his rifle. "Let's get the bastards!"

"Are you coming, America~?" asked South Korea, wandering over to the door with decidedly less urgency than Australia. America frowned at him. He wasn't sure how much use the other Asian nation was going to be, but he wasn't about turn down another willing gun.

"Later. I'll see if I can get any of them with this as they get closer," he said, patting the sniper rifle. "You stay here, Vietnam."

South Vietnam nodded, picked up her rifle and went over to stand by the window with America. She wasn't good enough to fight by herself yet, she knew that, and if she was killed then all of this effort would be for nothing. Besides, she was glad to spend more time with America. She didn't know what it was - his effectiveness against the early Vietcong attacks? His self-assured confidence that everything would be alright? Maybe just the fact that he cared enough to come to her aid? - but she felt safer when he was around, and in a situation like this safety was hard to come by.

Without warning, another pain shot through her head. She gasped and lifted a hand to her forehead, feeling for blood. Nothing - the attack hadn't broken the skin this time, at least. But while her forearm was in front of her face, she noticed a dark bruise that hadn't been there before. The Vietcong had far from given up.

"You okay?" America lifted his head from the windowsill and turned to look at her, concerned. "Is it the Vietcong again?"

"No, I'm fine," she said, ignoring the throbbing in her temples. "It's nothing. Just a headache."

"Oh. Okay. Tell me if they start attacking again." South Vietnam nodded; satisfied, America returned to staring through the scope.

"Wait, I think I see something... Yes! That's her!" He pulled the trigger and the rifle jerked in his grip, the noise reverberating throughout the house. "Damn, I missed. Where is she? Where's she hiding?"

He swung the rifle in an arc, scanning the forest as thoroughly as he could, and saw nothing. North Vietnam had either taken cover or retreated into deeper forest; either way, the sniper rifle was useless. America stood up, stretching out muscles cramped from bending over for hours on end, and slung his regular rifle around his shoulders. "Come on," he said, gesturing to the door. "Stick by me, okay?"

Gun ready in her hands, South Vietnam followed America out of the door, down the porch steps and out into the jungle. It was thicker than she'd realised - she was used to Vietnamese forest, of course, but this one was particularly harsh terrain. They cut their way through the undergrowth, making slow but deliberate progress, keeping an eye out for red armbands. Having America around was a trade-off - she would've been much quieter moving through the jungle without him crashing along next to her, but she would also have been almost completely helpless if anyone had found her.

"America, I think we-" she stopped. America was nowhere in sight. "America? America!"

"Vietnam!" his voice came from somewhere in the jungle - nearby, but too hidden by the trees to be seen. "Where are you?"

"Over here!" All thoughts of silence forgotten, she crashed through the undergrowth in a desperate attempt to reach him. But he was moving in another direction, or she'd misjudged his location - either way, she soon found herself in an entirely America-less section of the forest. No matter how much she called his name, her voice was swallowed by the forest and there came no reply.

It occurred to her that shouting could give away her location approximately three seconds before a bullet whistled past her head and buried itself in a nearby tree trunk. She hit the deck and, on the way down, caught sight of a flash of red.

"Found you, aru!"

The voice was close. Acting on instinct, South Vietnam rolled out of the way just as another bullet hit the dirt she'd been lying on, blowing clods of mud into the air. On her back now, she could see China's face hovering over her. She kicked out; her foot hit something that felt like a knee and China went down with a yelp. She scrambled to her feet and ran, clutching desperately at her gun. She knew she'd have to use it but she really, really didn't want to.

An arm closed around her neck from behind and she panicked, firing three bullets in entirely the wrong direction. She struggled and writhed, clawing at China's sleeve, trying desperately to free herself, but he was too strong. Her screams were cut off as his arm tightened around her neck. _This is the end. I'm going to die. Not now! I'm not ready to die! Please!_

A roar, the sound of someone crashing through the undergrowth, then a fist hit China on the side of the head. He dropped South Vietnam and she fell to her knees, gasping for air. Through unfocused eyes, she saw Australia easily dodge a roundhouse kick to the head - China must've been dizzy from the blow, she realised, he was usually brilliant at kung fu - and land a good hard punch in the stomach. China doubled over and received an elbow in the back for his trouble. He fell to all fours, coughing and winded, but managed to scamper away through the trees before Australia could finish him off.

Instead of chasing him, Australia crouched down next to South Vietnam. "You okay, mate?"

"I'm fine," she croaked, massaging her throat. The choking was actually the least of her worries - the Vietcong were back in a big way and she felt it all over her body. She needed to find America again. Australia was better than no-one, but he wasn't as strong as the western superpower and they didn't seem to be nearly as scared of him.

"Up you get, then," he said, straightening up and offering her a hand. She took it and let Australia help her to her feet, fingering the lotus blossom behind her ear with her free hand. It was still there; China hadn't knocked it out. It was still damaged, still only had half its petals, but at least it was there.

* * *

><p>America fought his way through the undergrowth, still calling South Vietnam's name, but he knew it was hopeless. The forest was too thick for sound to carry very far and he knew she had to be a long way away by now. He bit his lip, a feeling of guilt gnawing at his insides. Would she be alright without him? She had a gun, but could she use it effectively enough to defend herself? He began to regret not devoting more time to her training. He'd always assumed that he'd be there to protect her, never thought that they'd be separated like this. <em>Damn it, America! You're supposed to be the hero!<em>

He was too busy beating himself up to notice the clearing until he'd stumbled into it. Well, maybe clearing was the wrong word - there were still trees, but they were further apart and you could walk between them without stumbling over feet of undergrowth. There was even room for a small anthill a few feet away from him. America's soldier's instincts began to tingle, telling him that this was the perfect place for a trap. Someone could hide in the thick jungle around the edge and have a clear shot at anyone stupid enough to seek relief from the jungle in this clearing. America frowned around at it, then a broad grin broke out across his face. _I could set a trap here! Awesome!_

He strolled out into the middle of the clearing and, for the second time, almost took a bullet to the head.

He spun around just in time to see South Vietnam aiming her gun at him, sheltered by the trees at the edge of the clearing. No, not South Vietnam - that hard, focused expression was all wrong. This was North Vietnam. Communist North Vietnam. Enemy North Vietnam. He dived behind a tree just as another bullet flew past him and lifted his rifle, ready to fire. Chunks of bark exploded off the tree trunk as bullets rained into it like hail, then everything went quiet. Taking advantage of the break, America leant out from behind the tree and fired three shots at... nothing.

North Vietnam had disappeared.

America came cautiously out from behind the tree, rifle still at the ready, and began to move over to where she had been. There was no sign of her. No noise of retreat, no broken branches, not even any footsteps in the dirt. _What? Where did she go?_

Something small and round landed softly beside him, minding its own business.

America looked down at it, cocked his head to one side in confusion, then hurled himself behind the nearest tree just as the grenade exploded with a deafening _BANG! _He peered out from behind the trunk, his heart beating madly, to see North Vietnam aiming her rifle at him from the other end of the clearing. _What the hell? She can't have got there that fast without running straight through the middle! _But there was no time for thinking now - he waited until the bullets stopped flying before leaning out with his rifle and pulling the trigger.

_Click._

He was out of ammo.

America stared at his rifle in disbelief. How could it abandon him like this? He felt almost hurt by the betrayal. But he couldn't grieve now - he slung it back across his back and dug around in his belt pouches for more weapons. He found a knife, small but sharp, and decided that it would have to do. It wasn't going to be pretty, though. He clutched it as though it was his only lifeline, readying himself as he heard North Vietnam's footsteps crossing the clearing. _Way to bring a knife to a gunfight, America._

And then she was feet away from him, smiling a smile that would've been beautiful if it weren't for the steel in her eyes and the gun in her hands. He raised the knife, ready to do whatever he had to do to survive.

He was just about to spring out from behind the tree when North Vietnam's knees buckled. He looked around in surprise to see a sleeve that was far too long swing down and smack her over the head with impressive speed and force. South Korea straightened up as North Vietnam fell forwards, dazed, and he lifted a foot to pin her to the ground. But she wasn't finished yet; she aimed her rifle at him and shot, narrowly missing his leg. She used the distraction to roll out from under him and scramble to her feet, her gun still pointed backwards at them as she staggered away into the thick jungle and was swallowed in seconds.

South Korea didn't seem too bothered by this. "You alright, America? You look you've seen a ghost, da ze~"

"Nope, just my life flashing before my eyes." Near-death experiences didn't get easier the more often you had them, that was for sure. "Korea, be careful of her. I don't know what she's doing, but she can move like-"

"I know what she's doing~" he smiled, swinging his rifle onto his back and almost skipping towards the edge of the clearing. America followed cautiously, still a little shaken, and watched as he began to kick leaves away from an ordinary-looking patch of ground. He bent down, fit his fingers around some sort of edge and lifted, and America's eyes widened in shock. There was an underground passageway right underneath their feet!

"So that's how she got around so fast! There's another one on the other edge of the clearing, isn't there?"

"They're all over the place~" South Korea replaced the hole's cover and straightened up. "But they're too small for me, and they're definitely too small for you. Only the Vietnam girls can fit down there, da ze~"

"That's not good, Korea! Do you know how difficult that makes fighting her? We'll never be able to-"

"Calm down," he said blithely, heading over to the anthill right next to where America had emerged into the clearing. "You don't need to worry as long as you stay clear of these~"

"What do anthills have to do with it? Are the ants working for her or something?"

"Nope." South Korea bent down and pointed to a tiny slit in the wall of the anthill. "See that? This entire thing's fake, da ze! It's connected to the tunnel network, so she can see out of it. That's how she spotted you~"

America's mouth fell open. "You mean she... I..."

"That's not all~" South Korea skipped over to another perfectly ordinary looking patch of ground, right in the middle of the clearing this time. But he didn't bend down and lift the cover off a tunnel; he simply tapped the dirt with his foot. To America's horror, it swung backwards on a hidden hinge to reveal a pit full of almost Medieval-looking metal spikes. "They're poisoned, da ze~" he said, apparently completely fine with the fact that they were traversing a battlefield full of hidden tunnels, secret traps and who knew what else. America gulped, remembering how close he'd come to reaching this exact spot before North Vietnam's bullet had forced him to dive for cover.

"Well, I'm off then!" sang South Korea, wandering back off towards the jungle. "Ooh, wait, need some ammo? I found a weapons cache hidden in a tree trunk so I have extra~"

He replenished the bullet supply of the stunned nation, then turned to leave again. "Wait!" cried America. "I don't... what... how do you know so much?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he called, strolling away into the trees without so much as a glance back over his shoulder. "Jungle warfare was invented in Korea, da ze~!"

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so these were tactics used mainly by the Vietcong, not so much the North Vietnamese army, but I desperately wanted to write about them and they were still a big part of the Vietnam War. American soldiers were inexperienced in jungle warfare and the guerrilla tactics used were difficult for anyone to fight. It was the South Koreans who shone here; they gained a reputation for having a 'sixth sense' about finding weapons caches and traps and the Vietcong were more afraid of them than the Americans. The American army quickly developed a lot of confidence in them. The Australians were also a bit more experienced in guerrilla tactics and jungle warfare, having fought in the Pacific theatre of WWII and the Malayan Emergency.<strong>


	5. No Fighting on Tet

_"There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others."_

- Niccolo Machiavelli

South Vietnam crouched behind a tree, her head in her hands as she gritted her teeth and tried to endure the pain as best she could. It was all she could do to stay conscious. A flash of red, a gunshot, then silence, cresting, rolling, swelling silence until the next flash of red - that was, if bullets didn't fly out from between the trees from an enemy that you could see no better than you could fight. Australia stood in front of her, his gun held ready, twisting backwards and forwards as he tried to pin down China's position long enough to fire at him. This was not a clean fight - this was trying to kill an enemy that appeared and disappeared at will, never in the same place twice, all the while never knowing where the next bullet would come from and if it had your name on it. All you could do was wait, pray and hope to whatever higher being you believed in that the enemy would reveal himself for long enough to get a clear shot at before he could shoot you. South Vietnam would've been scared out of her wits if she'd been able to think through the screaming, blinding agony.

"Vietnam!"

And then America was there again, holding her close as the resistance movement threatened to rip her apart from the inside. Just like it had before, the pain began to subside. Slowly, gradually, but definitely, she could feel the Vietcong withdrawing.

Australia's gunshots slowed, then stopped completely. "He's buggared off!"

"Let's go," said America. "We need to pull back and regroup. Can you stand?"

South Vietnam nodded and pulled herself to her feet. Her injuries were bad - the bandages that America had tied around her earlier wounds barely seemed enough now - but she could carry herself and fire a gun and that was all she needed.

Being sure to stick together and not lose each other in the dense jungle, America, Australia and South Vietnam struggled through the undergrowth to her house. "Wait," called Australia, pausing mid-thrash. "Where's Korea? Is he alright? Shouldn't we look for him?"

"Oh, he'll be _fine_," said America. "Keep going! We'll get him later."

The three of them emerged from the forest at a run, raced up the steps to her porch and shut the front door behind them. Australia collapsed onto the couch; America didn't even make it that far, sinking to a sitting position in front of the closed door. South Vietnam staggered towards the nearest armchair and fell into it, aching all over.

"No," breathed America, his eyes snapping open. "No! They'll come for us! We need to barricade the door! Block the windows!"

Sweating, panting and covered in cuts and scrapes from the branches - and worse, in South Vietnam's case - they began to haul furniture against the door. The couch, then the armchair, then the dining table was balanced on top and the coffee table added for good measure. Adrenaline pumped through the house like air, feeding the frenzy that had taken hold of the three nations inside the house. They locked the back windows, drew the curtains and barricaded the windows with wood pulled from kitchen cupboards and the seats of chairs. All except one, which overlooked the front garden. They left that one open and sat underneath it armed with grenades, sniper rifles and enough fear to drive a lesser country mad.

"Crikey, mate..." Australia's usually tanned face was white and glistening with sweat as he clutched a grenade like a scared child might clutch a teddy bear. "I couldn't see nothing, couldn't hear nothing... I never knew if he was there or not, but it was worse if he wasn't because I knew he would be! The tension, mate..." He clutched his head in his hands, drawing his knees up to his chin.

"You have no idea," breathed America. His sniper rifle was back in his hands and this time he swore to himself he would never let it go. His knuckles were white and his fingers were sore from squeezing but he didn't care. "Did you see the traps? The tunnels? Korea showed me..." He told Australia and South Vietnam about his ordeal in the clearing and the information he'd gained from the inexplicably happy nation.

"Tunnels?" Australia's eyes were wide now. "No... That's insane! And South Korea knew all this? I thought he was useless!"

"Me too," admitted America. "I guess we were wrong, huh?"

"I guess so... But she spies through anthills! With tunnels we can't fit down and traps we can't see! Traps... How many did I pass without noticing? How many times did I nearly step on one? Oh God..."

"Vietnam?" America turned towards her, his face suddenly concerned again. "You're very quiet. Are you okay?"

South Vietnam was not okay. The Vietcong were back, relentless, refusing to give up. She'd been hugging her knees tightly as the other two nations spoke, trying her utmost not to scream as new cuts and bruises sprang into being all over her to add to her already shocking collection. But it was worse this time. Pain assaulted her from all sides, finally ripping a scream from her mouth.

"Vietnam!"

Jolts of agony shook her body. Pain squeezed her head... squeezed it... there was too much pressure, too much pressure to bear... She couldn't take it, couldn't take the...

The next thing she knew, she had launched herself at America and closed her hands around his throat. He fell backwards, taken completely by surprise. Her brain was overloaded, echoing with fear and agony and the chatter of guns, too numb to think or to ignore the words echoing through her mind. _Filthy capitalist! He's the source of all our problems! If it wasn't for him, all this fighting would be over! _She was barely aware of what she was doing as she lay sprawled on top of him, pinning him to the floor, squeezing with all her strength.

Strong arms around her waist. She screamed (was it pain? Fear? Anger?) as she was hauled off America and held tightly as she thrashed and shrieked, desperate to get free. But it was no use - Australia was too strong. Slowly, gradually, the pressure began to leave her head. She relaxed, going limp in Australia's arms and regaining control bit by tiny bit. When he released her, she simply collapsed onto her bamboo floor and stared at her memories in wide-eyed horror. _I just tried to kill America. He's my friend! He's on my side! Why did I do that?_

_The Vietcong are stronger now._

A lotus petal fluttered across her vision, landing lightly on the wooden floor next to her face. Its pure white colour was marred by curled edges and brown spots. Horrified, she pulled the lotus flower from behind her ear and held it cupped in both hands; it had less than half of its petals now, and the remaining ones were slowly turning brown. Her lotus was dying.

She couldn't stop the tears now. They rolled down her cheeks and splashed to the floor around the fallen petal until America crawled over to her and gently pulled her upright, wrapping his arms around her just like he had done to hold off the Vietcong. But this wasn't the Vietcong and they both knew it. He held her close as she wailed and beat her fists against his chest, crying loudly and desperately into his shoulder. She cried for her country, her people, her freedom and her sister, for the bright future that had so briefly been theirs, for the terrible war being waged outside and for her horrible, gnawing, frustrating helplessness. America stroked her hair as her wails turned to whimpers, which in turn became the silent, wracking sobs that come when you have more sadness than your eyes have tears.

"What's up, da ze~?"

South Korea swung through the open window, landing crouched on the floor next to them. Aside from a few scrapes from branches and thorny vines, he seemed relatively unhurt. No bullets, shrapnel, burns or knives appeared to have got anywhere near him.

"Korea!" Australia looked up from polishing his grenade with his shirt. "Where were you?"

"I was tracking them," he said, grinning around at the other three nations. "They're retreating, just like you guys. They went right back inside and locked the door. I would've had a proper look at their house but it was getting dark so I had to come back~"

"Retreating?" Australia frowned. "We're not even out there any more! Why are they retreating?"

"I don't know..." America chewed his lip in thought.

"Tet," sniffed South Vietnam, her voice muffled by America's shoulder.

"What?"

"Tet," she said, clearer this time. She lifted her head from America's thoroughly tear-stained shirt and turned to face them, her eyes still red and puffy. "Tết Nguyên Đán is one of our holidays. It's a Lunar New Year celebration that starts tomorrow."

"But why would that mean they're retreating?"

"No-one can fight on Tet," she said simply, as though that was that. "Whatever happens on Tet sets the tone for the rest of the year, and fighting is unlucky. North wouldn't risk it. That's just how it works."

"So they aren't going to fight us tomorrow?" asked Australia. He looked almost suspicious, like this was too good to be true.

"No. No fighting on Tet."

The words hung in the air, their full meaning slowly dawning on the four nations in the room. No fighting on Tet. They could regroup, restock and prepare. Everyone could get some rest and South Vietnam might get a chance to recover from the wounds inflicted by the Vietcong. They could even give her a crash course in self-defence. Plans could be made, support gained, troops and supplies flown in.

That night, that one sentence lay over the two houses and the dividing forest like an unspoken promise.

No fighting on Tet.

* * *

><p><strong>The American army was one of the main anti-Vietcong forces, which is why America's proximity to South Vietnam affects how much the Vietcong can hurt her. It was a bit more complicated than this in real life, of course, but this was the best way I could think of to portray it here.<strong>

**The Vietnamese holiday of ****Tết Nguyên Đán** **is one of the most important days of the year and marks the arrival of spring based on the Thai lunar calendar. There is a strong belief that what happens on Tet affects the nature of the rest of the year, so everyone visits family, prays at temples and tries to do good things. In 1968, a two-day ceasefire was announced by both sides for Tet.**


	6. Breaking the Truce

"_You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake."_

- Jeannette Rankin

When the Vietnamese sun dawned the next day, it brought with it the holiday of Tet and the promise of twenty-four hours of peace. North Vietnam sat on her couch, polishing her gun and trying to think of a way to break the silence. China sat on an armchair opposite her and stared out of the window, shifting his weight around and playing with his hands in an attempt to not appear quite so awkward. Russia was there as well, leaning against the wall and fiddling with his scarf - North Vietnam had always wondered why he didn't take that off in the Southeast Asian heat, but now she almost wished she had one of her own to occupy her hands. Usually, when all three of them were together, they would be debating ideas, developing strategies and laying plans, but the arrival of their new ally had somehow frozen all communication.

None of them could explain why North Korea was such a conversation-killer. Maybe it was the stiffness with which he stood by the front door as if he thought he was on sentry duty. North Vietnam had no idea how he could possibly stay so unnaturally still; he didn't even appear to be breathing. He could just as well have been a life-sized cardboard cutout. Maybe it was his seriousness, the intensity with which he attacked every single thing he did. It made you feel as though anything you had to say couldn't possibly be worth that much attention. He wasn't unpleasant, as such - he'd certainly never said anything less than respectful - but North Vietnam could think of many people she'd rather invite to dinner parties.

"So," said China suddenly, breaking the silence. She admired his courage. North Korea's head snapped over to him, listening intently. His entire existence was now focused on whatever China had to say next. China squirmed in his seat and tried not to look directly at him. "Shouldn't we... um, I just thought that... since we have a day to plan, aru, we should... well, we should, er, plan, really..." His voice petered out and he looked to North Vietnam for help.

"Yeah," she said, bravely taking the baton of conversation from China. "They won't attack today, since... since it's Tet and all, like I said..."

"We should attack them," said Russia. North Korea's unwavering attention was focused on him now - he welcomed it with a smile. North Vietnam didn't know how awkward he felt on the inside, but he was doing a good job of not showing it. "They won't expect it so they won't be ready, da?"

"But it's Tet!" She frowned at him, doing her best to ignore North Korea. "We can't attack on Tet."

"Why not?"

"Because... well, because it's Tet! Whatever happens on Tet dictates what happens for the rest of the year. If we fight on Tet then we have no chance of ending this war. You do want peace, don't you?"

"Russia's right, aru," said China, ignoring her. "We can get the element of surprise this way."

"But there's no fighting on Tet! It's traditional! It's just wrong!"

"Do you want to win this war or not, aru?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then you need to make some sacrifices, da?"

North Vietnam opened her mouth, realised she had nothing to say and looked around the room, appealing silently for support. China seemed completely unaffected by this treason against her culture, Russia looked exactly like he always did, and then her eyes reached North Korea and she regretted it instantly. He was waiting for her to speak, and he had a certain way of waiting that made you feel like a failure for not being quick enough to come up with a response.

"I think we should attack," he said suddenly. Everyone looked at him - that was the first time he'd spoken in over half an hour - but he appeared completely unfazed by the attention. North Korea, decided North Vietnam, was weird.

But, weirdness or no, that made a three-to-one majority and even she had to admit that they had a point. If she could sacrifice tradition just for one day then it could win them the war. Despite her desperate protests, she was powerless to stop them as they began to lay plans for storming her sister's house, and soon, to her disgust, found herself joining in. _War really does ruin everything, doesn't it?_ Even North Korea pitched a few ideas (even though they were strange ones, like asking his leader to collapse the nearby mountains on top of South Vietnam's house. He swore this was possible and in the end they managed to veto the idea by claiming that there would be too much collateral damage) until they had a satisfactory strategy.

North Vietnam subconsciously fingered the crimson half-lotus in her hair. Tet would certainly be interesting this year.

* * *

><p>South Vietnam steadied the rifle in her hands, breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger. The rifle jumped in her grip and the bullet slammed into the rim of the target.<p>

"Awesome!" said America encouragingly, studying the target through his binoculars. It was just coloured rings they'd painted on a tree that morning, but it served its purpose. "You're getting closer."

South Vietnam sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead. They'd been at this for hours, lying propped up on their elbows in the dirt and heat, but she wasn't going to stop until she could hit the bullseye. She was sick of being useless. On the other side of the house, Australia was taking advantage of the unspoken truce of Tet to move supplies. No-one knew where South Korea was but no-one was about to question it. Whatever he was doing, it was most likely useful.

"It's the recoil that throws me off," she said. "It's all lined up perfectly, then it jumps when I pull the trigger and ends up firing wrong."

"You need to use your shoulder as a shock absorber," said America. "It steadies it so the recoil doesn't throw off your accuracy."

"Like this?" South Vietnam propped the butt of her rifle up against her shoulder and looked to him for confirmation.

"No, that's your collarbone. It'll hurt like hell if it jumps back onto that. You want it right here..." he reached his arm over her, carefully placing the rifle in the gap between her collarbone and shoulder. Then, as though suddenly realising how close they were, his hand shot back and he quickly put a good six inches of space between them. South Vietnam felt her face heating up and began to sight down the rifle to hide any scarlet that might be creeping onto her cheeks. She pulled the trigger before the silence had time to get awkward and, just like America had told her it would, her shoulder absorbed the recoil. The bullet hit the tree trunk slightly to the left of the centre of the target.

"Much better!" said America, a little too casually. "See if you can hit the bullseye this time."

Less than fifty feet away, concealed in the thick jungle surrounding the house, North Vietnam, North Korea and China crouched hidden in the undergrowth. North Vietnam held a pair of binoculars up to her eyes and squinted through the trees at her sister. "She's at the shooting range with America. They're just practising."

"Let me see, aru." China took the binoculars and focused on the same spot. "So Australia's at the back of the house, they're over there... Where's South Korea?"

"I don't think he's here."

"Well then we should attack quickly before he gets back, aru. One less person to fight."

And so they split up, China moving silently through the jungle towards Australia and North Vietnam and North Korea staying where they were, lying in wait for the perfect moment to attack. North Korea had the focus of a microscope lense and North Vietnam found herself almost uncomfortable as he crouched in the undergrowth, binoculars held to his face, just as unnaturally still as he had been in her house.

Her eyes slid over to his face, still staring intently at her sister's garden, and, against her better judgement, she found herself asking him a question. "Why are you here?"

He was too busy observing the enemy to look at her. "To help you."

"I know that," she said, trying to think of a better way to phrase her question. "I mean, why are _you _here? This doesn't affect you. Why go out of your way to support me? Not that I'm not grateful, that is, just... curious..." Her voice trailed away.

His face gave away no trace of emotion as he considered her question. North Vietnam was suddenly worried that he wouldn't reply and the whole situation would get even more awkward, but then, thankfully, he spoke. "I'm here because I know what it's like to fight a sibling for communism."

"Oh," she said, not sure what else to say. And so the conversation ended there, with them both crouched in the undergrowth, waiting for the right moment to launch their assault.

Suddenly North Korea dropped his binoculars and grabbed his rifle. "They're finished with the gun. Let's go." North Vietnam barely had time to scramble to her feet and follow him.

* * *

><p>"Okay," said America, pushing himself to his feet and brushing the dirt off his uniform. "I think that's enough for today. You're doing awesome!" He extended his hand to help pull South Vietnam up, but she didn't take it. She was staring straight ahead with wide, shocked eyes, the gun falling from her grip. "Vietnam?"<p>

"But... it's Tet..." she whispered, then screamed in pain and pulled her knees to her chin, hugging them tightly and rocking backwards and forwards. Patches of red began to form on her clothes, faster and larger than usual, and she began to whimper incoherently as she lay curled in the mud. _Just submit to her! _The voices were back, the disturbing thoughts that made so much sense. _She's not your enemy! It's America that's the source of all your problems, not her!_

"Vietnam!" America dropped to his knees and helped her into a sitting position, but he knew immediately that this attack was not like the others. She was being brave, trying her hardest not to scream, but something terrible was happening and they both knew it. He wasn't sure if his presence alone would be enough this time, but he had to try.

But before he could wrap his arms around her and hold her close, the defeaning _crack_ of a gunshot echoed through the forest. His heart leapt into his throat as he pushed her back down to the ground and hurled himself on top of her. Another _crack_, and the dirt where they had been only seconds before exploded, clods of mud flying into the air.

"Run!" America rolled off South Vietnam and pulled her to her feet. She was still pale and unsteady but there was nothing else he could do. "Get to the house! Barricade yourself inside!" he said urgently as North Korea and North Vietnam emerged from the jungle, rifles at the ready. South Vietnam did as he said, tripping and stumbling but running as hard as she could. America bent down to pick up the rifle but a shot from North Vietnam's gun sent him reeling backwards, recovering his balance just in time to realise that hand-to-hand combat was the only way he would survive this. He threw himself at North Vietnam, silently praying that her sister would make it to the house alive.

South Vietnam ran. Her head was swimming and cuts were still tearing themselves open all over her body, but she ran. She was unarmed, defenceless; America was right, she had to get to the house. _But it's Tet!_ She reached the stairs to the porch just as a pair of hands closed around her ankles. She went down, hitting the wooden staircase hard but recovering quickly and trying to scramble up on her hands and knees. A hand grabbed her foot and she kicked out backwards, but all that did was throw her off balance and give North Korea time to pull her back down the stairs. She screamed and tried to clutch at the top step but it was no use; she gave up on reaching the house and rolled over to face her attacker. If she was going down, she was taking the stony-faced Korean with her.

She struck out at his face, hitting him hard in the nose, but he ignored the blow and pinned her to the ground with his forearm over her neck. She choked and gasped for breath as she dug her fingers into his eyes. He recoiled, his arm jerking off her neck and onto her face, and she bit it as hard as she could. He shouted out in pain and grabbed something from his belt. It glinted in the sunlight as he held it ready. A knife.

Just as North Korea was about to bring the blade down, a foot hit him in the side of the head and he rolled sideways, dazed. South Vietnam barely had time to make out a blur of long sleeves and a ridiculous hair curl as South Korea launched himself at his brother. They rolled over and over, their momentum carrying them away from the steps, and became a frenzy of tangled limbs. The knife was South Korea's, then North Korea's again, then it lay forgotten on the ground as fingers were in eye sockets, nails were clawing at faces and elbows and knees were everywhere they shouldn't be as the near-identical twins fought to the death.

Back by the shooting range, North Vietnam landed a particularly good punch right in America's stomach. He doubled over, winded, and she took the opportunity to knee him in the face. He stumbled backwards, wiping blood from his nose, but managed to recover himself enough to land a punch squarely on her jaw. Her head snapped backwards but she still managed to kick out; he caught her foot and twisted and she fell to the ground. She did, however, manage to keep some of her balance and landed in a crouch rather than a heap. She used the opportunity to kick America's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor.

She stood over him, raising her rifle as her face twisted itself into a snarl that was far from beautiful. Her finger tightened on the trigger, then something hard hit her on the back of the head and she crumpled.

America saw North Vietnam fall, revealing her sister standing behind her. She was badly injured and breathing hard, but had somehow managed to pull herself over to them, find the practise rifle and whack her sister over the head with it with enough force to knock her out. He would never have guessed she had it in her. He took her offered hand and climbed to his feet, enveloping her in a grateful hug before she could do anything but smile weakly at him. Her hair smelled like flowers.

It was only a few seconds before they separated and headed over to where North and South Korea were still trying their utmost to kill each other. North Vietnam was down; now they just had to get rid of North Korea and this battle would be over.

When North Vietnam came around, the first thing she was aware of was a bruise the size of her fist forming on the back of her head. She groaned and rolled over, and was promptly treated to the sight of her sister, America and South Korea exchanging blows with her ally. She frowned. Even her hazy, throbbing brain could tell that that was bad. He was outnumbered and outgunned and that couldn't end well. The next thing she saw was the gun, the one that had hit her over the head, lying in the dirt next to her. Before she was even really aware of what she was doing, she had crawled over to it, picked it up and aimed it at her enemies.

America saw North Vietnam's gun a nanosecond before she pulled the trigger. He threw his arm out but didn't manage to quite pull South Vietnam behind him in time, and that was how the bullet buried itself in his right hand.

South Korea, meanwhile, had managed to throw his brother off him and jump to his feet. North Korea climbed to his knees just in time to receive a kick to the face. He fell backwards, rolled onto his hands and knees and scampered away towards the jungle. He stopped just long enough to pick up the semi-conscious North Vietnam before disappearing into the jungle.

South Korea watched him go, his face thoughtful. "I didn't know he was here."

"Neither did I," said South Vietnam, her voice still quiet from the shock. "He must've come recently. Right, America?"

"Y-yeah..." America's voice shook slightly. He smiled up at them, but it was a stretched, apologetic smile. It was then that South Vietnam noticed his bleeding hand.

"America! What happened?"

"I just... just got a bit hurt, that's all. I'm fine. They can't stop the hero that easily."

"That's a bullet wound, da ze. You need to get the first aid kit~"

"R-right..." he said. "Yeah, you're right. You guys go and see if Australia's okay. I'll find the... the first aid kit..."

And that was precisely when they heard the gunshots from behind the house. _BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! _They came thick and fast, not pausing to aim or take cover, like the person firing them was wishing more than anything that they had a machine gun rather than a rifle.

South Korea, South Vietnam and America all looked at each other in shock. "America, go!" said South Vietnam, pushing him towards the house. "You can't fight with that hand! We can help Australia on our own!"

America looked at them, then at the house, then at the corner that the gunshots had come from, fighting a terrible internal war with himself. The hero was not supposed to run away whenever he got injured, but the hero wasn't supposed to let a wound like this kill him by being stupid about it either. So he found himself running back up to the house, his left hand clutching his right, cursing his own better judgement.

"You can't fight like that either, da ze~" South Korea pointed out as they rounded the corner and ran for the front garden.

"I know," she admitted, "but I can try." She was sick of being helpless.

As it turned out, she didn't have to. They rounded the corner just in time to see China disappearing into the forest, limping slightly on his left leg. Australia was crouched against the wall of the house, firing into the forest, his face pale and contorted with fear and adrenaline. Bark splintered off tree trunks, branches fell and dirt sprayed into the air as he shot indiscriminately, bullet after bullet after bullet.

"Australia!" South Vietnam ran towards him but he barely seemed to notice her. South Korea was hot on her heels.

"China's gone, da ze! He's gone!"

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Click. _Australia stared at his rifle in horror and started pumping the trigger as though hoping there might be one spare bullet left in there. _Click. Click. Click. Click. Click._

South Vietnam reached him and knelt down next to him, South Korea close behind. "Australia, stop it!" She grabbed his shoulders and he turned towards her, noticing her presence for the first time.

"Vietnam! Hide! He'll be back! Korea!" He scrambled onto his knees and clutched at the front of South Korea's uniform, his eyes wild. "Korea! Do you have ammo? I ran out and he's coming! He's coming, Korea!"

"He's gone," said South Korea, trying to detach Australia's hands from his shirt. "They retreated. Everyone's gone."

Australia sank back to sit on his heels, letting go of South Korea and turning to South Vietnam. "They're... gone?"

"Gone," she said. "We fought them off."

He looked her up and down. "You look terrible," he said, then collapsed backwards to lean against the wall with his head in his hands. South Vietnam wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he whispered, "_gone... gone... gone..._" over and over as though trying to come to terms with the idea.

"That's right. They're gone. We're safe."

He lifted his head briefly to look right at her, his face almost childlike. "No fighting on Tet. You said no fighting on Tet."

South Vietnam had nothing to say to that.

* * *

><p><strong>The Tet Offensive was launched by the North Vietnamese army and the Vietcong during the ceasefire that had been announced for the holiday of Tet in 1968. They attacked hundreds of cities, towns and garrisons, including government buildings in Saigon, in a coordinated strike that led to some of the most brutal battles of the war, but were successfully repulsed by southern forces. Although the North made substantial progress at first, most of the ground gained was lost in the weeks that followed and they sustained great losses. The Vietcong especially became less of a threat after Tet. Although it was a military defeat for the northern forces, it was a psychological victory as it demonstrated to the American and Australian public that the war was far from over and shook their faith that they would be able to emerge the victors.<strong>


	7. Losing Allies

"_I venture to say that no war can be carried on long against the will of the people."_

- Edmund Burke

America hurried inside, trying to stop the bleeding in his left hand, and found the first aid kit just as the gunshots from outside stopped. That was a good sign. He did his best to bandage his right hand with his left - which was difficult, considering that he was right-handed - and pulled the knot tight with his teeth. There; at least now he wasn't going to bleed all over the place. South Vietnam's first aid kit didn't have any handy painkillers so he was just going to have to endure the slowly worsening throbbing until it sorted itself out. It wasn't the best of prospects, but it could have been a lot worse.

The phone rang. America jumped and looked around - he'd never heard South Vietnam's phone ring before. He found it on the countertop and hesitantly picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"America, is that you?"

"Yes sir!" he said, instantly recognising the voice of his president and snapping to attention. This was a bad plan - he'd already sent a jolt of agony through his injured hand by trying to salute before realising that his president wasn't in the room with him and therefore wouldn't have cared even if he had managed it.

"Ah, good. How are things going over there?"

America looked down at his bandaged hand, then over to the blood-stained porch stairs where South Vietnam and North Korea had had their fight, then out of the window at the jungle that he knew contained countless inaccessible tunnels, deadly traps and a new possibility for a horrible demise with every step you took. "Not bad, sir."

"Hm..." mused his president.

"We did successfully repel an invasion today, sir!" he chirped, hoping this would put a more positive spin on recent events.

"Yes, we heard about that, America. It wasn't exactly clean and efficient, was it?"

"Well... no, not _exactly,_ but-"

"I'll get straight to the point. Public sentiment at home is becoming more and more opposed to the war. Young men are dying in droves and no real, tangible progress has been made. People are sick of it. We only sent you there to stop the spread of communism, not to risk your own neck for Vietnam's sake. We can't put ourselves out there any more - we're starting the process of withdrawal."

America's throat went dry. "What? No! Mr President, you can't!"

"Why not?"

"South Vietnam will die without us! She's not ready to fight this war on her own! We can't just abandon her like that!"

"Well what do you propose we do, then?" His president sounded impatient and America knew he had to speak fast if he was going to save this situation.

"Just give me a bit more time. I'll train her, turn her into a better soldier. If we don't make any more progress soon then at least she'll be able to fight for herself if we leave. But you can't pull me out now. Not now."

His president was silent for a moment, considering this. "Okay. You can have a little longer. If we don't start winning soon, you're getting out of there."

"But Mr President, I-"

"That's an order, America."

There was a click on the other end of the line and the phone went dead.

America stared at it, then hurled it back down onto the table and sank into a sitting position, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands. No. No no no. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be the hero, damn it! He wasn't supposed to run away just because things weren't going well! He wasn't supposed to just abandon her like this! It was all wrong. All so, so wrong.

The door opened. Australia, South Korea and South Vietnam came inside, South Vietnam half-leaning on South Korea. She was covered in cuts and bruises and looked absolutely awful, but she'd saved his life today. She'd gone through hell and overcome it like the hero he was meant to be and he was going to leave her like a coward.

Her big, dark eyes, the eyes that had held so much pain and sadness and now sparkled with hope, found him sitting on the floor and she smiled. And, despite himself, America smiled back.

There was only one thing for it. Starting tomorrow, he was going to train South Vietnam until she could take on the whole of Asia by herself and win. Because no matter what his president said, he was not going to leave her to die.

* * *

><p>North Vietnam had no idea what was going on. One moment everyone had been alright, recovering from the injuries they'd received the day before, and the next everything had started to spiral out of control. North Korea had disappeared without a word - no-one seemed to know where or he'd gone or why - and, in the sudden air of laid-back casualness that his departure had given the house, China and Russia had started to fight.<p>

"Aiyah!" China shouted, his face twisted into an uncharacteristic snarl as he paced backwards and forwards across the room, limping slightly on his bandaged left leg. "I trusted you, aru! I thought you were right! I thought you knew what you were doing!"

"I do," said Russia, sitting in his armchair with an unruffled smile on his face.

"No you don't. Communism is supposed to be for the people, aru!"

"Both of you shut up!" North Vietnam had to yell to be heard over China. "I don't know what you're arguing about, but stop it!"

"He invaded Czechoslovakia!" China pointed an accusing finger at Russia, who took it good-naturedly.

"So?"

"So that's not what communism's all about, aru! It's supposed to make everyone peaceful and happy!

"That's what I'm doing. I'm making everyone be happy."

"But you can't do that, aru! You can't just invade people to make them happy! Czechoslovakia was happy without you!"

"They'll be happier with me. There's no point to communism if we don't spread it, da?"

"No! Not da, aru! When I took your advice and copied you, you told me it was all about peace and equality! Invasions defeat the point completely!"

"Can't we leave this until later?" asked North Vietnam, desperate now. She only had two allies left; she needed them united.

"No!" China stopped pacing and stared at her like she'd just suggested he spit on his own flag. "He is insulting everything I stand for, aru! This is who I am! If he wants to go around invading left right and centre then he can do it without my help. I refuse to stay in the same building as this tyrant, aru."

"But that would mean abandoning Vietnam, da?"

"No," said North Vietnam, shaking her head slowly as the meaning of this dawned on her. "No. China, please. Don't do this to me, China. Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving you, aru," he spat. "I'm leaving _him_."

Pursued by her desperate protests, he spun on his heel, marched out of the house and slammed the door behind him. She ran to the door and threw it open again, standing on the porch and shouting after him. She tried threats, she tried bargaining, she even tried begging and pleading, but nothing she said made him so much as look back over his shoulder. The last thing she saw was his red armband before he disappeared into the jungle.

"Well he was a moron, da?"

North Vietnam spun around, stomped back into the house and slammed the door just as hard as China had. She glowered at Russia, her fists balled by her sides and anger rising in her chest. "Shut up. I still don't know what you did but you lost me a good ally, so shut up or I swear I will punch your face in."

"That's not very nice. You won't keep your allies for very long if you talk to them all like that, will you?"

"I don't even care any more," she hissed. "You are _not _leaving me. I am _not _losing this war. Don't you leave me, Russia, don't you dare. Don't you bail out on me now!"

"Who said anything about leaving?" Russia leant back in his chair and smiled at her. "I'm still your ally, da? I'm still bringing you money and supplies. Just because China can't manage two things at once doesn't mean I can't."

"Good," she said, collapsing onto the couch. "Good. That's good." Muttering to herself in rapid Vietnamese, she touched the lotus blossom behind her ear - it was still safe, still there, and that was where it was staying.

* * *

><p>"Go on," said America, bouncing up and down with his palms still in the air. "Hit them!"<p>

South Vietnam looked down at her hands, balled one of them into a fist and lightly whacked America on the hand.

"Come on, you can do better than that!"

"I don't want to hurt you..."

"Don't be silly, you won't hurt me. You won't get stronger if you don't try! Go on, hard as you can!"

"Okay then..." South Vietnam sized up America's hands, then raised a fist and punched one of them so hard and so fast he barely saw it coming. It hit him like a steamroller before he had time to prepare himself and so knocked him off balance. He stumbled, instinctively grabbed South Vietnam's wrist for support and tumbled down onto the grass, bringing her down with him.

The first thing America became aware of was the sharp stone digging into his back. The second thing was that he was in surprisingly little pain; the fall had been very minor. The third thing was that South Vietnam was lying right on top of him.

She was surprisingly beautiful from up close. Lots of people get uglier the closer you get, but that didn't seem to be the case with her. Her hair, knocked from behind her ears by the fall, fell in her face and caught the sunlight filtering through the trees. The lotus flower, despite only having half its petals, contrasted with the pitch black of her hair in a way that made him want to reach up and touch it. She was surprisingly light - America wasn't even uncomfortable despite the fact that she had all her weight on him. With his nose inches from her, he could smell a vaguely jasmine-like scent - was that perfume or just natural?

The fourth thing America became aware of was that South Vietnam had been lying on top of him for about thirty seconds now and neither of them had moved. From the sudden widening of her eyes, she noticed this at exactly the same time as he did. He let go of her wrists, she rolled off him and they both scrambled to their feet in record time.

"Hehe..." laughed America, more to break the awkward silence than anything. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks and hoped he wasn't blushing quite so deeply as the scarlet Vietnamese girl standing opposite him. "I guess you're kind of a natural, huh?"

"I don't think so," she said, still trying desperately not to make eye contact. "It was always my sister that did the fighting. I'm not sure I have what it takes to kill someone... But at least I have you, right?"

And then she looked up at him, her dark eyes full of so much hope and admiration, so sure that he would save her and protect her and everything would be alright, and America couldn't take it. He managed to squeeze out a strangled, "Yeah," and spun on his heel, heading back towards the house. South Vietnam called after him but he barely heard her.

_What the hell am I doing? _he thought, closing the door behind him, hurling himself down onto the sofa and burying his face in a cushion. _What sort of hero am I, giving her false hope and then abandoning her to die? _He lay there, barely noticing that the cushion was restricting his breathing, until he was certain he had a grip on himself again. He sat up and lifted his head high, staring out at the room as if challenging it to fight him.

"We can still win this," he told Australia, who was still sitting in the corner and bouncing his grenade in the palm of his hand. "We just have to train harder."

Australia didn't even look up. "If you say so, mate."

* * *

><p><strong>In 1968, aware that public sentiment was turning against the war, America started a process of 'Vietnamisation' - that was, training the South Vietnamese army to fight alone. They began to slowly reduce the number of troops in Vietnam while providing Vietnamese generals and soldiers with instructions on tactics and warfare. The war was also immensely unpopular with the Australian public. Around the same time, Soviet forces invaded the country of Czechoslovakia to suppress liberalisation movements. This conflicted with the ideology of China and soured relations between the two countries. China withdrew forces from Vietnam to prepare for a possible war with Russia. North Korea also disappeared from the war that same year but, this being North Korea we're talking about, they weren't exactly forthcoming about the details.<strong>


	8. Proving Herself

"_Civil war? What does that mean? Is there any foreign war? Isn't every war fought between men, between brothers?"_

- Victor Hugo

The atmosphere in South Vietnam's house was not pleasant. America was on the couch, shoulders slumped, staring at the opposite wall with his eyes blank and his face expressionless. Australia was sitting in the corner with his grenade clutched in his hands, muttering to himself as he played with it. South Vietnam was in the armchair, reassembling her rifle as part of process of learning how it worked. South Korea was crouched on the windowsill, perfectly balanced, staring out of the window at the front garden and scanning the trees for any enemies. No-one was there and no-one had been there all morning, but that didn't stop the fear and tension pulling the air inside the house tight until it threatened to snap.

"Done," announced South Vietnam, clicking the last piece into place and hefting the rifle onto her shoulder. "I think that's right."

"Awesome!" America brightened up ever so slightly. She smiled at him - he had been a bit depressed recently and it was worrying her. None of them were on top form, but something seemed to be really bothering him. But if he wasn't going to tell her, all she could do was try her best in her training and try to win this war. That would solve everything. _Wouldn't it?_

"So... what do you want me to do next?"

America considered this. She had been making progress, it was true. Over the last few days she had thrown herself into her training and absorbed new skills and knowledge like a sponge. She'd begun to hit closer and closer to the bullseye on their makeshift targets, she could hold her own in hand-to-hand combat - he couldn't fight her because of his injured hand, but South Korea stood in for him and claimed she was improving dramatically - and her fitness was improving fast. Maybe it was time to test how she could operate on her own. "South Korea, tell her about that supply route you found."

South Korea spun around to face the room without so much as wobbling. "There's a trail running from your sister's house right out into the jungle~" he said. "I found it while I was out looking around. She and Russia and China use it to move supplies around, but there's a section that's right next to a cliff. If you caused a rockfall you could cut it off, da ze~"

"So you want me to go and blow it up?" she asked America.

"Well, yeah. But the thing is, I can't come with you. It runs through Laos's garden and if I snuck in there I don't think he'd take it too well. You might be able to get inside without him noticing... but only if you think you're up to it, that is."

"Of course I am!" she said, gripping her rifle tightly. Of course she was.

South Vietnam slipped silently through the forest, her rifle clutched tightly to her chest. Strapped to her back was a rucksack that contained not supplies but a sophisticated, powerful bomb. America had assured her that it would be more than enough to cut off the trail and, not knowing all that much about explosives herself, she had to trust him. She moved quickly despite the heavy bag and thick jungle and soon found the fence that separated her garden from Laos's.

Slipping the bag off her shoulders, she dropped it over the fence and scrambled across after it. Laos's garden wasn't too different from her own - same thick forest, same dense undergrowth - but she didn't know her way around nearly as well. South Korea's advice swam to the forefront of her mind. "_The trail's very close to the fence, da ze. Just keep heading northwest and you'll reach it in no time~"_. So that was what she did, picking her way quickly and quietly through the jungle.

The trail, as it turned out, was easy to find. She almost stumbled right out into it when the forest stopped all of a sudden, giving way to a bumpy dirt track. _This must be it. _There was a cliff-face right on the other side of the trail with rocks that looked just loose enough to be dislodged by a good explosion. Perfect.

She crouched in the undergrowth by the side of the trail for a while then, when she was sure no-one was using it, hurried to the other side and knelt down by the cliff. She took the rucksack off her shoulders and opened it, slipping out the bomb as carefully as she could. America's advice replayed through her head as she carried out each of the steps he had described, pressing buttons and connecting wires until she was sure the charge was properly set. Opening a pocket in the front of her rucksack, she took out a small remote. America had assured her that it was connected to the charge and that pressing the single button on the black box would detonate it. She just had to make sure she was nowhere near when that happened.

Satisfied with her work and a little bit proud of her success, South Vietnam straightened up and retreated back across the trail. And that was when the first bullet shot past her head.

Her heart skipping a beat, she hurled herself to the floor and scampered across the track on all fours, her mind blank except for the screaming instinct to get out of the line of fire. She darted behind a rock and fumbled with her rifle, her hands shaking. "Who are you?" she called, her voice carrying easily across the open terrain of the trail.

The reply came quickly. "Don't you recognise your own sister?"

Shocked, South Vietnam made the mistake of leaning out from behind her rock to look. Another bullet whistled past her face, forcing her back, but not before she got a good look at her opponent. North Vietnam was looking out from behind a tree in the undergrowth she'd been hiding in, her face half-obscured by her rifle. She looked different to how South Vietnam remembered her. Her hair, usually so beautiful, was tangled and untidy. Her face was marred by dirt, scratches and dried blood. It was her eyes, however, that were the most obvious change; they were wide and blazing, filled with a desperation and fervor that hadn't been there before. Her lotus flower was hanging limp by her ear, but still bright scarlet and very much alive.

Gritting her teeth, South Vietnam aimed her rifle out from behind the rock and fired at her sister. Her head ducked back behind the tree as the bullets flew past, hitting the trail and sending clods of mud flying into the air.

"I know you don't want to shoot me, South!" shouted North Vietnam. Her voice was shriller than usual, louder and more high-pitched. This war was taking a toll on her as well. "You don't have to! Come out from behind there right now and I swear I won't hurt you!"

"No!" she yelled back, clutching her rifle. "You come out, North! Come out and stop all this pointless fighting! It doesn't have to be like this!"

Her sister laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "You never were a warrior, were you? You never could fight without help!"

"I don't need to!" This was accompanied by another round of bullets, which North Vietnam easily avoided. "I have America and Australia and South Korea! Who do you have, North? Who's helping you?"

"No-one!" she shrieked. "Not any more! Well, unless you count Russia, but the coward won't set foot on the battlefield. I don't need anyone to fight my wars for me! I don't need to hide behind strong friends like you do, South!"

"I don't hide!"

"Of course you do! It was always me, wasn't it? It was always me fighting our wars while you hid and complained about all the violence! But now I'm not there any more, so you run to America and his capitalist slaves, don't you? But how long do you think they'll stay, South? How long do you think they'll put up with taking this many losses in a war that isn't even their own? And once they leave, you'll have no-one. Admit it; you're useless!"

"No!" screamed South Vietnam. "I'm not useless! You're _wrong_!" She leant out from behind the rock and fired bullet after bullet at her sister; they hit the tree trunk, each one just as ineffective as the last. "And besides," she said, triumphant, "I didn't just come out here for the view! When I'm done, you'll never be able to use this trail aga-" She didn't have the remote. Her jaw dropped as she checked all the pockets of her rucksack and felt around in the undergrowth behind the rock. But, in one horrified corner of the back of her mind, she knew what had happened. She'd dropped it out on the trail when she'd ducked to avoid her sister's bullet. The remote was gone.

The colour draining from her face, South Vietnam leant out and opened another round of gunfire onto her sister's position. She pumped the trigger over and over, reloading without hesitation, a desperate battlecry ripping across the trail. And then, all too soon, her breath and her bullets were gone. She clawed madly at her pockets, checked her rucksack, but she was completely, utterly out of ammo.

"What's wrong? No more bullets, little sister?"

South Vietnam's silence gave her all she needed to know. She charged, hurling herself out from behind the tree and racing across the rocky terrain with her gun at the ready. South Vietnam didn't hesitate. She leapt to her feet and ran, bullets whistling past her ears, her mind racing and her heart in her throat as she hit the jungle and just kept running. Her sister's footsteps crashed through the undergrowth behind her and the gunshots echoed through her head and all she did was run, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Branches whipped at her face, scratching her exposed skin and tangling in her hair as she flew past, but she hardly noticed. She reached the fence and vaulted it, landed staggering on the floor and kept going.

She didn't know how long her sister chased her for. All she remembered was the running, the terror consuming her mind, then reaching her own front garden and hurtling up the steps, tripping, scraping her knee, never stopping. She threw herself through the front door, slammed it behind her, and sank to the floor without even looking at the other nations. Before anyone had time to squeeze out a sentence, she was sobbing again.

"I'm so sorry." Her voice was muffled but she didn't care. "She was waiting... I tried... I'm sorry..."

America had put so much time into training her. He had worked so hard and she had tried her hardest to practise and learn but it had all been wasted. She'd failed. He'd given her a chance to show that she could fight, that she could stand on her own, and she'd failed.

Her sister's words echoed through her head. _Admit it, you're useless!_

No. She wouldn't. Not yet.

* * *

><p>South Vietnam's second chance to prove herself came the next day. She trained all night, practising kicks, punches and strikes on trees, running laps around the house in the moonlight and spending hours lying in the mud at the makeshift shooting range. <em>Why can't I hit the damn bullseye? <em>America was with her, giving advice, helping her, the desperation in his eyes increasing every time she missed the target or messed up a technique. In the end, she had to force him to go to bed and get some rest while she kept practising.

She was a bit worried about him, to be honest. He wasn't himself. When he'd arrived he'd been optimistic, loud, even a little arrogant, but that arrogance had given her confidence in him, hope that he could pull her through this. But now... there was something wrong. She didn't know what it was and she wasn't sure she wanted to, but she would often see him staring into the distance with a conflicted, hopeless look on his face or fidgeting with his bandage like he wished he could rip it away. Maybe the stress was just getting to him? It was certainly taking its toll on the rest of them.

It was as she was completing her fortieth press-up in a row that she saw the flash of red in the trees. Her arms gave way beneath her and she lay in the grass, staring out at the jungle. Had she just imagined that? Was the war affecting her so badly she was hallucinating?

Her confusion was resolved as her sister crashed out of the forest, gun raised, eyes blazing. South Vietnam panicked, scrambling to her feet and racing around the corner to the shooting range just as a bullet shot past her head. She grabbed the practise rifle from the floor and hurled herself onto the porch. Just as North Vietnam came into view, she managed to knock the deck table over and crouch behind it, leaning out to aim a few bullets of her own.

North Vietnam ducked behind the porch, waiting for a break in her sister's fire, then vaulted up and charged her position. South Vietnam, realising the table wouldn't protect her for long, raced out from behind it and, before North Vietnam had a chance to aim, disappeared around the corner to the back of the house. Her sister was hot on her heels. She could hear her footsteps behind her on the wooden porch as she reached a deck chair and kicked it over as she ran, tripping her and sending her sprawling across the floor. Heart pounding, South Vietnam turned the next corner and skidded to a halt.

The Vietcong were back.

_No. Not now. Please not now. _Gritting her teeth and forcing herself to stay upright, she threw herself off the porch and rolled into the space between the grass and the wooden deck. _Go on, South! Submit to her! This could all be over by now if you'd just stop fighting! _She lay there, curled into a fetal position, trying to ignore the voices in her head and biting down on her own fist to stop herself from screaming as her sister's footsteps echoed on the wooden planks directly above her. _Don't scream. Scream and she'll find you. You can defeat her when the Vietcong go. _If _they go. _She pushed that last thought from her mind. She wasn't going to die here.

_Thud. _South Vietnam turned her head to see her sister's boots in the mud right next to her head. _Is she leaving? _But then North Vietnam was crouching down, pressing her cheek against the grass to look under the porch. And now their faces were inches away, eyes full of steel meeting eyes full of fear. South Vietnam could feel the breath from her sister's lips as she whispered, "South. South, please. Listen to me. We don't have to-"

She screamed. Forgetting everything she'd told herself about being brave, about fighting her own battles, she scrambled out from under the porch as fast as she could and screamed and screamed and screamed. North Vietnam managed to grab her ankle and she went down, hitting the ground hard, her mind blank with panic.

And then, before she could do anything but scream, the front door banged open and three pairs of footsteps hurtled across the porch. North Vietnam's hand let go of her ankle as America landed a good hard punch. The butt of Australia's rifle slammed into her stomach, sending her staggering backwards, and then South Korea knocked her to the floor with a spinning kick to the head. Then she was scrambling to her feet, running for the jungle with Australia and South Korea following as fast as they could.

America stayed, crouching down and gathering her into his arms. She cried even as the Vietcong stopped tearing her apart from the inside, even as the pain subsided into a dull throbbing and her sister disappeared into the forest. She sobbed into his shoulder and he stroked her hair with his good hand, leaning his cheek against the top of her head and whispering a steady stream of comforts.

"It's okay. She's gone. You're safe. Don't cry, I'm here. You'll be okay."

In that moment, all America wanted, all he wished for with every ounce of his willpower, was to believe those words. Because he realised now. He'd always known it, deep down, but now it was proven. The girl crying in his arms was no soldier. She was made for peace, for helping people and making them smile, for caring for people and not for killing them, and no amount of training would ever change that.

Without him, South Vietnam would not survive this war.

* * *

><p><strong>Vietnamisation was, despite everything, a failure. South Vietnam launched Operation Lam Son 719 in 1971, sending troops to cut off the Ho Chi Minh trail, a supply route running through the neighbouring country of Laos. American ground troops were forbidden by law from entering Laotian territory, so this was seen as a test of South Vietnam's ability to operate without American aid. It was a fiasco; soldiers met resistance and fled, and over half their number were killed or captured. In 1972, North Vietnam launched the Easter Offensive. They quickly overran the northern provinces and threatened to cut the country in two before American forces arrived to help and pushed them back. These incidents served as proof that Vietnamisation was not working and that, if America withdrew, South Vietnam would be unable to defend itself.<strong>


	9. Making Peace

"_I don't know whether war is an interlude during peace, or peace an interlude during war."_

- Georges Clemenceau

Ever since North Vietnam's failed offensive, America had not stopped training her sister. He tutored her at marksmanship, taught her new strategies and techniques for hand-to-hand combat and gave her endless laps and exercises, but, although she attacked them with all she had, his heart was no longer in it. His right hand hung uselessly by his side and throbbed dully, a constant reminder that he couldn't protect her forever. Every time she hit the target, landed a good blow or successfully completed a long run, she would look at him with so much hope and pride it made his chest feel like caving in. _This is cruel_, he told himself, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. _You can't keep doing this to her. You can't keep letting her think she has a chance. _But every time he opened his mouth to tell her the truth, that he was leaving and she was doomed, his throat would close up and he would find himself incapable of uttering a sound.

And that was why he was here now, standing in the middle of the jungle near the clearing where he had first faced North Vietnam. It was pitch black and everyone back at the house was fast asleep - that was how he had snuck out here, finding his way by the weak rays of moonlight that struggled through the canopy. He pressed a button on his watch and the face lit up; it was thirty minutes past midnight. Any second now.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around, his heart skipping a beat. _I didn't even hear any footsteps! _North Vietnam was standing in front of him, her gun in her hands and her face set. Once again, he was startled at how much she resembled her sister; it was their expressions that set them apart more than anything else. South Vietnam had never had that steel behind her eyes, that determination in the way her mouth was set. She had never had her sister's courage and will to fight.

"America," she said flatly.

"North Vietnam."

"My leader said you wanted to meet with me."

America bit his lip. This situation called for careful, subtle persuasion and he had never been good at that. His style was barging in and being the loudest and most obnoxious person in the room, forcing everyone to pay attention to him through being simply impossible to ignore. But as North Vietnam stood with her hands on her hips and stared at him with those contemptuous eyes that glinted with something between hatred and desperation, he knew that his usual strategy wouldn't work on her. It occurred to him that he was out of his depth; it was a strange feeling. He'd never been out of his depth before. He was used to being the strongest and the best, but now he had met his match in this small, slender girl and he didn't quite know how to deal with it.

"Well..." he started, checking each word twice before he let it out of his mouth, "war is bad, isn't it?" _You idiot._

"In some cases."

"And it's sort of stupid too, right? There's no point in dying for something like this."

"For my freedom? I'd die for that any day, America. If you have something to say then say it."

Okay, time for a different approach. "Look, we're taking heavy casualties over here and I know that you aren't doing too well yourself." He was right - her hair was tangled and singed in places, her face was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises and her uniform was ripped and muddy. "We aren't getting anywhere with this and keeping on fighting will just mean more resources lost and more good men dead. This stalemate isn't doing either of us any good."

"So what do you propose?" Her arms were folded now - she was still glaring at him like he was the source of all her problems (_am I?_), but at least she was listening.

"A truce. A proper one, this time. We leave you alone and you leave us alone. You can be communist if you like, but South Vietnam gets to make her own choices as well. We won't bother you if you don't bother her." He paused, looking for some sort of agreement in her face. "How does that sound?"

Her expression didn't change for a long time. She stared up at him with those cold eyes that looked nothing like her sister's, mulling over his proposal. Then, just as America was getting ready to try again, she spoke. "And what about you?"

"Me? I won't come anywhere near you. I'll just stay at South Vietnam's house."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I can't accept that."

"Then what do you want me to do? Live in her garden?"

"I want you gone. Leave my sister alone. Get out of Vietnam for good and never bother us again, and take Australia and South Korea with you."

America's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, realised it had nothing to say and snapped shut. Leave. Get out. It sounded so harsh when she put it like that, like he was an intruder, the root of all their problems. He had hoped, just a faint glimmer that he hadn't dared to focus on in case it disappeared, that if he managed to negotiate a truce then he would be allowed to stay. That once his men stopped dying and all that remained was fixing South Vietnam's shattered country, his president would let him stay out of pity and a sense of responsibility. To rebuild the lives he had helped ruin.

But, although he hated to admit it, he had always known deep down that that was too good to be true. Once the war was over, South Vietnam wouldn't need him. She was no soldier, but he could think of no person better to comfort and rebuild a war-torn land. If his leaving would finally get her the peace and freedom she'd been fighting for then he knew what he had to do.

With an effort not too far from pushing over a mountain with his bare hands, America managed to squeeze the single word out of his mouth. "Okay."

North Vietnam raised an eyebrow. "You'll leave? Just like that?"

"Only if you swear to me right now that you will never touch her again." He stared down at her, his face more serious than it had ever been in his entire life.

"I swear. You get out and take your lackeys with you, and I'll leave her alone."

And there, in the middle of the jungle at the dead of night, the Vietnamese communist and the American capitalist shook hands and sealed their truce.

From this point onwards, it was agreed, there would be no more fighting in Vietnam.

* * *

><p>When the door opened and America slipped back inside, the house was completely still and utterly silent. Australia was still curled in the corner, sleeping soundly with his grenade clutched in his hands. South Korea was still crouched on the windowsill - America wasn't bothered about being seen by him, he'd slept that way last night as well. But South Vietnam was sitting her armchair, wide awake and staring straight at him.<p>

He froze, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"Where were you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusing - more curious than anything, in fact - but his mind had gone blank. _Don't be stupid, America! This is good news! You've done her a favour!_

He spat the truth out before he had a chance to stop himself. "I had a meeting with your sister."

Her eyes widened in shock, then betrayal, then hurt. "Why? What were you doing?"

"I ended the war!" he announced. "I negotiated a peace treaty! She's agreed to leave you alone!"

"You... you did?" Now it was South Vietnam's turn to be surprised. "How?"

"It's hurt her just as badly as us. I just pointed out that we were getting nowhere with this and that it was in all of our best interests to just stop the fighting."

"No." She shook her head slowly as though trying to wrap her head around a particularly complicated theory. "No, there was more. She'd never just give up like that. I've known her for millennia and she would never do that. She'd die first." Her eyes snapped up to his face, accusation in them for the first time. She looked scarily like her sister and it was all he could do not to recoil. "What did you do, America?"

"Calm down, why would you think I'd-"

"What did you do?"

"Okay, fine," he said, trying not to look directly at her searing glare. "I agreed to leave."

She stared at him for a long time, horror dawning slowly on her face. "No you didn't."

"I did." He braced himself for an impact, but it didn't come.

"No. You didn't. You didn't agree to leave me, America. You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't." Her face was desperate, pleading, begging him to confirm what she was saying. But he couldn't lie to her any more.

"You won't need me now!" he said, forcing his mouth into a wide smile. "You won't need any of us! The war's over - you don't need to fight any more! You can be your own country all by yourself! You could even talk to your sister properly - this might be your chance for peaceful reunification!"

"NO!" she screamed suddenly, leaping to her feet. Australia jerked awake in the corner and made a grab for his gun; South Korea's eyes snapped open and he almost toppled off the windowsill. "You can't leave! She's lying to you! I know her and I know she won't give up this easily!"

"We shook on it. She swore-"

"I don't care what she swore!" South Vietnam was shouting at the top of her lungs now. "Listen to me, America! She. Is. Not. Finished. With. Me! She's tricking you into leaving!"

"I'm sure she wouldn't-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE WOULD DO!" she shrieked, taking a step towards him. To hit him or to hold onto him, America couldn't tell. "Just stay! Forget you ever made that truce and stay here! She won't keep it so you shouldn't either!"

"I can't do that," he said quietly.

"Why not?"

He swallowed hard. "My president told me a few days ago that if we didn't start winning, I had to leave. You couldn't fight with me and you couldn't fight without me, so all I could do was keep you from needing to fight at all. That's what this truce is. It's the best I can do."

She stared at him, her eyes blank. "You knew this all along."

"Not _all _along, only recently, but-"

"You didn't tell me."

"There was no need to-"

"NO NEED TO?" She exploded again, making America jump. "This is my _survival_! There was no need to tell me that you were going to leave me to die? This might just be another meaningless fight in a faraway land to you, but this is my life!"

"You're not meaningless!"

"Then prove it to me! Don't leave!"

He looked straight at her. South Vietnam. The girl who'd defied her sister and rejected communism, who'd tried her absolute hardest to fight through a haze of bloody, relentless Vietcong attacks, sweat from endless training and the tears that had soaked his uniform so many times. The girl whose soft, kind face was now bright red from screaming, whose dark eyes were wide with fear and hatred. Hatred directed at him. The girl with the white half-lotus in her hair.

The words felt heavy on his tongue. "I'm sorry."

She gaped at him, eyes wide as she tried to comprehend what was happening to her. America stared right back, forcing his face to stay indifferent. Australia and South Korea watched their exchange with shocked faces, utterly silent.

Outside the house, thunder exploded like a bomb and raindrops began to hit the roof like shrapnel.

"Go." South Vietnam shot the word at him like a bullet and it hurt him just as badly when it hit.

"I really am-"

"GO!" she shrieked. Tears were streaming down her face now and America wanted to hug her, to gather her into his arms and hold her close until she was alright again, but this time he knew he couldn't. "GET OUT!"

"Vietnam-"

She grabbed a vase from the table next to the couch and hurled it at him. He ducked and it smashed against the wall, showing the floor with shards of glass. "I SAID GET OUT! YOU WANT TO LEAVE SO BADLY, LEAVE!"

"Please-"

It was a lamp that narrowly missed his head this time. "YOU LIED TO ME!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE THE HERO! YOU TOLD ME YOU'D SAVE ME!"

"I-"

The next hard object in South Vietnam's hand was her rifle. She aimed it right at his heart, tears splashing onto the wooden handle. He looked down at her face, the face that just a few days ago had been reluctant to even hurt, let alone kill. But the face he saw now was different. It had been through too much pain and violence, seen more than it should ever have had to, hoped and had those hopes crushed in front of its eyes and now faced death with a coldhearted anger that gave him no doubt that she would pull that trigger and shoot him where he stood.

"I said get out." Her voice was flat, dead, emotionless. "Now."

He had no choice. He turned and walked out of South Vietnam's house and into the pouring rain. He climbed down the porch steps, still scuffed and dirty from her fight with North Korea, across the shooting range with the targets painted on trees (not a single one of the many dark bullet holes were on the bullseye), across the muddy tracks she'd left after her countless laps around the garden, and, taking one last look over his shoulder at the small, wooden house, he stepped into the forest and it disappeared from sight.

South Vietnam stood stiff and motionless, her gun pointed at thin air, as Australia and South Korea looked at each other, brushed past her with muttered apologies and shut the door behind them. Then she sank to her knees, her rifle falling from her hands and clattering to the floor, and stared ahead with wide, disbelieving eyes. She was all alone. He had left her. After all he'd told her, after all he'd promised, he had left her to die alone and helpless.

Rain battered the ceiling as she lifted a hand to her ear and gently dislodged the lotus flower from her hair. It was wilted and brown, the remaining petals hanging limp from the centre. She considered letting it fall to the ground, abandoning it like America had abandoned her, but instead she tucked it back behind her ear, careful not to crease or snap any of the dry, dead petals. She had lived her entire life with that flower. It had been pink then, identical to her sister's, whole and bright and full of life. It had been with her for all the millennia she had lived; now she was taking it to her death.

Because sometimes, the hero can't save everyone.

* * *

><p><strong>In 1973, American National Security Advisor, Henry Kissinger, completed secret peace negotiations with North Vietnamese <strong>**Lê Đức Thọ. It was decided, according to the subsequent Paris Peace Accords, that a ceasefire would begin at midnight on January 27th. American forces would begin a withdrawal to be completed within sixty days. The reunification of North and South Vietnam would be negotiated through peaceful means. Australia and South Korea, as the allies of America, naturally followed in withdrawing troops. By this point, everyone was relieved to have an excuse to leave a war which had become brutal, drawn-out and a nightmare for all involved. However, neither half of Vietnam carried out all of the conditions of the Paris Peace Accord and neither believed the other half would.**


	10. Ending the War

"_If we don't end war, war will end us."_

- H. G. Wells

When North Vietnam arrived at her sister's house, she found her waiting on the porch with her withered lotus in her hair and her rifle in her hand. There were tear tracks down her face but her eyes held no trace of moisture - they were wide and full of emotion that North Vietnam had never seen in them before. Not quite hatred - she had a feeling her sister's mind wasn't coherent enough for hatred at the moment - but not desperation either. That was what shocked North Vietnam the most. There was no desperation because in order to be desperate you need something to fight for. Something barely within your grasp. South Vietnam had accepted her fate.

"You've lost," said North Vietnam, marching towards her sister's porch with her gun raised. "No more fighting. Surrender and we can be done with this."

"No."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "No?"

She had been right that South Vietnam had accepted her fate, but she had made the mistake of thinking that that meant she wasn't going down without a fight. North Vietnam barely had time to duck before her sister's bullet shot over her head.

She straightened, mouth open in shock, and launched herself up the stairs towards her. South Vietnam took cover behind the doorway, sending an endless stream of bullets at her with no thought for conserving ammunition or even giving herself much protection. Taking advantage of the pause to reload, North Vietnam hurtled inside and took cover behind the couch. Aiming her rifle over the top, she pulled the trigger and South Vietnam was forced to hurl herself behind the kitchen counter. Not even waiting for her sister to stop shooting, she leant out and pumped the trigger like it was the only thing keeping her clinging to life.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

North Vietnam dropped to her hands and knees, the bullets shattering the windows, shredding cushions and ripping holes in the wooden walls. This was not sweet, docile South Vietnam. War had changed her, and her inevitable demise had not served to subdue her. For the first time in her life, North Vietnam was genuinely frightened of her sister.

Behind the counter, blood was slowly staining South Vietnam's uniform. The Vietcong were back and America wasn't here to stop them, but she barely noticed. All she cared about was pulling that trigger until the sun burned out and took her with it.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Click._

Her ammo pouches were empty.

All North Vietnam heard was shooting - mindless, insane shooting - and quiet. Then footsteps were racing across the floor, combat boots thudding against the wooden boards and a scream, a hair-raising, terrifying scream was splitting her ears. She leant out from behind the sofa in time to see her sister, her kind, sweet, peaceful sister, charging towards her with nothing but death in her eyes. And, almost by instinct, her finger tightened on the trigger.

South Vietnam fell.

Silence.

Thirty seconds passed before North Vietnam looked out from behind the couch, her hands shaking.

"South?"

Silence.

"South, are you okay?"

Silence.

She crawled out into the open, crossing the room on her hands and knees to where her sister lay sprawled on the wooden floor. She poked her gently.

Nothing.

North Vietnam didn't dare to think or to feel; she was terrified of what she might find if she allowed herself to. Carefully, gently, she turned her sister over. A patch as red as the lotus in her own hair was spreading slowly over the front of her military jacket. Over Saigon.

Her brain numb, North Vietnam frantically brushed her sister's long, dark hair back from her face. A dead, withered plant fell from her hair and crumbled on the floor but she barely noticed it. Her expression was peaceful, like the South Vietnam she remembered. The South Vietnam that had picked flowers in their countryside and played with the children in the villages. The South Vietnam who had danced and smiled and brought her serenity when she could find none for herself. Her eyes were closed, her eyelids pale and nearly translucent.

"South," she whispered. "South, wake up."

Nothing.

"Wake up," she said a little louder. Her sister had always been a deep sleeper.

Tears were streaming from her eyes now, falling from her cheeks and splashing onto South Vietnam's face. _Why am I crying? I only have to wake her up. _"South, you can wake up now! Wake up!"

She was hugging her now, holding her close and rocking backwards and forwards, crying so hard she could barely see. "You can wake up! The war is over! America's gone! China's gone! They're all gone! It's just us, just like it always was. Remember when it was just us, South? We're free, just like we wanted! We did it! We can reunify and be one Vietnam, like we were meant to be. We don't need to fight any more, South! Everything will be fine again! Just wake up, damn it! WAKE UP!"

As North Vietnam held her sister and screamed, hysteria rising like floodwaters in her head, she felt a peculiar prickling spread through her. It was as though some of her nerve endings had woken up, ones she never knew existed (or maybe she'd simply forgotten?), prickling like pins and needles. It wasn't a painful feeling; it was strange, if anything, but she knew exactly what it was. South Vietnam. Not her sister, but herself. She could feel the fires of Saigon flickering to life one by one inside her, she could hear each of its screaming, fleeing people, smell the burning buildings, taste the acrid smoke. She and her sister had always been two halves of the same region. Two Indochinas, two Annams, two Vietnams. Not any more. That prickling was the citizens of the south joining her, becoming one with the north that had always been hers. She could feel Saigon burning as acutely as she would feel it if Hanoi itself went up in flames.

She paused, taking her lotus flower out from behind her ear. She held it cupped in both hands and stared at it in numb shock. It was a full lotus, just like it had been before the war. But its colour hadn't changed one bit. It was a fresh, vibrant, healthy flower, as red as her sister's blood.

She was well and truly one nation now.

* * *

><p><strong>In 1975, North Vietnam violated the Paris Peace Accords and invaded South Vietnam. The country panicked and officials were evacuated from Saigon in American helicopters and the city was left to its fate. Control was completely lost as fighting broke out, militia fled or changed sides and the whole situation descended into chaos. On April 30th, North Vietnamese troops easily overcame resistance, drove a tank through the gates of Independence Palace and raised the flag of North Vietnam on its roof. South Vietnam had been defeated and Vietnam was finally unified.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I won't lie, I cried writing this chapter. T_T I knew it was coming all along but it still made me really, really sad. I'd got kind of attached to the Vietnam sisters...**

**There's an epilogue coming soon, so don't go away yet.**


	11. Epilogue

_"In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield."_

- Douglas MacArthur

America stood in the middle of the crowd, his hands in his pockets, staring at his feet. They were quieter and more subdued than most crowds he was used to, muttering amongst each other with sad, serious faces. He didn't speak; he had no-one to speak to and nothing to say. For once in his life, he hadn't come to talk. He simply stood there, letting the low murmuring wash over him and hearing nothing.

The noise died down and stopped. America looked up; there was a man on the podium now, dressed in an official uniform and waiting patiently for silence. One by one, everyone turned to face him.

"We assemble here today," he started, his voice carrying easily through the silent crowd, "to pay our respects to those soldiers who died giving their lives for this great nation. Even as we draw ever nearer to the fortieth anniversary of the war's end, the pain still runs fresh for many of us here."

_Tell me about it._

America didn't want to hear any more. He turned and slipped away through the crowd as quietly as he could, whispering 'excuse me's and 'sorry's as he passed. He reached the edge and stepped onto the path, the sound from the service fading as he walked away.

It only took him minutes to reach the war memorial. Shiny, black and austere, it stood out from its surroundings like a tombstone stands out from a field, surprising him as it always did with its sheer length. _That many?_ He stopped and lifted his right hand, the one that still had a faint scar, and ran his finger across the first name, feeling the bumps of the engraving. A face swam into his mind - a boy, no older than nineteen, with a lopsided smile and hair that would never lie flat. The next name. Thirty-four, his nose crooked after a fall from his bicycle and a wife waiting for him to come home. He had never known them, not really, but he never forgot one of his citizens.

He moved slowly down the memorial, reading each name, remembering each face. Red hair. Glasses. Freckles. A pair of lucky socks. A premature bald patch; that had worried him more than the Vietcong. The memorial contained fifty-eight thousand one hundred and ninety-five names and America read every single one of them, never stopping, never daunted by how far he still had to go. He did this every year, on the anniversary of the day he left her. As long as he kept coming back, kept forcing himself to remember every name and every face that had been lost for his sake, he could be sure he would never forget her. The one even the hero couldn't save.

By the time America reached the end of the wall, the sun was setting and people were starting to leave. The service had finished hours ago and all that were left were the last few lingering visitors, gathering their belongings to leave. He ran his finger over the last name - shorter than average (he'd always hated that) but still the best sprinter at his high school - and stopped, staring at the floor, lost in thought.

He had a world meeting to attend tomorrow; he needed his sleep or England would make fun of him. Maybe it was time to leave.

Dragging his eyes up from the floor, America thrust his hands back into his pockets and began to walk back down the path towards the city. For no reason in particular, he looked back at the memorial over his shoulder, and that was when he saw her.

She was crouched down, laying a wreath of flowers at the base of the wall, her long, black hair falling in her eyes as she bent her head. America froze and spun around; she looked up and brushed her hair back and he realised that it wasn't her. She looked similar - same soft features, same dark eyes - but she was just a regular citizen, someone come to pay her respects to the dead. Even so, when she turned her back to him and walked away, he could almost imagine that she was.

In her hair, she wore a pink lotus.

* * *

><p><strong>The Vietnam War was one of the most devastating conflicts of the twentieth century. Over eleven hundred thousand North Vietnamese combatants, including Vietcong, were killed along with two hundred and fifty thousand South Vietnamese. Over fifty-eight thousand Americans died, including those missing in action and dead in captivity. The Australia and New Zealand Army Corps lost four hundred and eighty-one, South Korea lost over five thousand, China lost fifteen hundred and it can be estimated that North Korea lost several dozen. Approximately two million civilians were killed, but the Vietnamese public suffered for long after the end of the war from illnesses and starvation caused by American chemical warfare and destruction of the jungle. Despite this, Vietnam has risen from the ashes and is now one of the fastest growing economies in the world. It still suffers from its fair share of problems but is on its way to becoming a more stable and developed nation.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, that was one hell of a ride. I was so emotionally invested in this by the end it wasn't even funny - I cried writing it and I'd been planning how it was going to finish right from the beginning. Thank you so much if you've read this entire thing. I'd just like you to know that you are awesome. I hope you learned something and enjoyed the story. Learning about the past and remembering what occurred are the first steps towards making sure nothing like this ever happens again. Ironically enough, my history teacher told me yesterday that we're going to be doing the Vietnam War next term. Someone's going to ace history this semester... ^_^**


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